


DID You Hear the Rabbit Cry?

by Those_Interrupted



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Child Abuse, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Abuse, Hogwarts, Multiple Personality Disorder, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Slytherin, Slytherin!Harry, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 65
Words: 129,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Those_Interrupted/pseuds/Those_Interrupted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems that Harry has Dissociative Identity Disorder (Multiple Personality Disorder). To him, this is nothing new. He's known of his alters for as long as he can remember. Magic, however, is a different story entirely. When he finds himself sorted into Slytherin, he realizes that the choices he must make are more important than he ever imagined. (Note: more or less follows the book until year 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is posted on fanfiction by Demon Lilith. I'm the same person, promise!
> 
> For that matter, I feel the need to specify that I myself have Dissociative Identity Disorder (yes, it has been professionally diagnosed). So this won't be one of those fics where the alters are all two dimensional moods. There will be no ~evil~ alter, and integration is not the end goal of the system. Any questions about either Harry's system or my own are welcomed. With that said, I hope that you enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that you may need to be careful if you choose to see what other people have commented; there ARE spoilers as early as in the first chapter comments.

Maybe it started when he was a child. Maybe it resulted from life with an abusive aunt and uncle, from days spent hiding bruises and nights spent hiding quietly in a cupboard under the stairs. Maybe it was because he needed a friend, someone to confide in, someone who wasn’t cruel Dudley or sneering school children or a school counselor who was justfourmoreminutesuntilmylunchbreakthankfuckinggod tired of her job. Maybe it was because he was weak. He was an easy target. He could never defend himself from his uncle or stop the bullies. Save for his freakiness, he was _weak_. Maybe that was why.

Maybe not. After all, his body was never his, not even in his first year of life.  How could it have been? Things were fine at first. His parents were oh so good, after all. Oh so loving. Nothing was wrong with his life, not at first. And then HE came, and his parents were dead. Traumatic enough, of course, considering that he was barely a toddler at the time. It would have been enough to scar anyone (and oh how it did). But that wasn’t all. Of course it wasn’t. HIS soul was split as well, you see, and a piece of it just happened to enter him. Two minds, one body, oh dear, what _was_ he to do?

And so little Harry _split_.

XXXXX

“Useless boy,” Vernon huffs, and Harry nods wearily. He forces himself to stare at Vernon’s shoes instead of allowing his eyes to drift off, half closed and glazed. There’s a pressure growing behind his right eye, and he knows that Boy wants to front. Harry holds his ground, but only just barely. Simpering like a fool may shut Vernon up for now, but it will only encourage more mocking later. Harry’s tired of feeling like a fool. He is not stupid, he is not useless, and he’ll be damned if he lets Vernon think that he thinks that he is. He’ll be damned if he lets Vernon break him!

 _That’s the spirit!_ Potter whispers sarcastically, and Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. Vernon might be too self obsessed to notice Harry's distraction, but he'd be sure to pick up on more blatant disrespect, and Harry can't afford that. His back still aches from yesterday. Even Bruises wasn't enough to curtail his Uncle's anger about… about, what, exactly? Letters? Owls? Someone acknowledging Harry's existence in order to play a practical joke? Harry doesn't understand it, and he's not sure that he wants to. Maybe there was no reason at all for Vernon's anger. Maybe he just hadn't used up his monthly quota yet and wanted to make sure not to waste any opportunities.

At least Vernon's current anger seems to be dwindling. Finally, with one last demand that Harry get back in his goddamn cupboard and don't engage in any of that _freakishness_ of his, the man storms off.  Not willing to test his luck, Harry quickly complies with Vernon's last command, ignoring his stomach's pleas that he find food first. Harry's sure that he'll be fine for at least another day as long as he's careful now. With that in mind, he lies gingerly on his side and closes his jade green eyes to rest.

Almost immediately, Harry feels a distinct tugging sensation, and then he's falling back within his mind. His eyes open to a small room with several doors attached, each leading to a hallway lined with additional doors. A slightly older teen waits for him in one of the room's armchairs. When the teen notices Harry, he scoffs and pushes long black bangs away from his eyes.

"It took you long enough," he greets Harry. Without waiting for a response, Potter continues, "What did you do to piss the Vermin off this time?"

Harry laughs dryly. “Who knows? Maybe I breathed too much of his precious air. Because goodness knows there’s not enough of that to go around!” Potter nods. He gestures to a worn red chair across from his own, and Harry takes a seat. For a minute, the two sit in companionable silence. Then Potter sighs.

“What are we going to do about the letters?” he asks. Harry doesn't reply or give any indication that he even heard the question. Potter frowns.

 “Harry,” he warns, “You can’t just ignore this. I know that it sounds insane—I mean, a school of _magic?_ Really?—but honestly, does it even matter? They could be inviting us to join a cult for all that I care. It would mean freedom from the Dursleys, even if only temporarily. How can you just let this slip through our fingers?"

Harry rests his head in his hands and grits his teeth. “I’m not letting anything slip through our fingers. I’m trying to be logical about this, okay?”

Despite himself, he can't ignore the appeal of what Potter's saying. It's the same appeal that lead Freak to sneak the letter past their uncle and Harry to read it in its entirety even as he became increasingly convinced that it was the cruelest prank that he'd ever seen. There can't be a school of magic waiting for them. There is no Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even if such a thing existed, Harry's sure that it would want nothing to do with a scrawny idiot like him. He should be putting the idea as far from his mind as possible, not pretending like this is something that has even the smallest of chances of being real.

He still can't forget the letter.

When Harry makes no sign of turning his thoughts into action, Potter makes a noise of disgust and stands up. He walks over to one door that stands apart from the others and disappears inside of it. Harry considers following but decides against it. He's had enough of people for the day (month, year…). It's time to sleep. Maybe, with any luck, he won't wake up again.

Harry has never been lucky. But perhaps, just this once, he won't be condemned.

XXXXX

It's Harry and Potter who meet Hagrid, but it's Hansel who enjoys Diagon Alley the most. He's always loved fairy tales, and as far as he’s concerned, being a wizard is totally the best thing ever! The candy store probably doesn't hurt, either. When he realizes that some of the candy actually moves, he's almost beside himself with joy. He loves the owls, as well. He would take home all of them, if he could! Why can't he? They're nice owls, see? They don't even bite or anything! And they come in nice, shiny cages!

By the time Potter manages to drag them into the wand shop, he’s exhausted from the effort of keeping Hansel under control. What would people think if the first impression that they had of “Potter? Harry Potter?” involved the antics a six year old? That he's retarded! Granted, that would require that they pay attention to him and not just his reputation. Potter isn’t sure that anyone here is capable of that. How can they be so convinced that he (well, Harry) is their savior? Even if he supposedly did defeat this “Dark Lord” of theirs as an infant, what makes them think that he's in any way exceptional now? He’s just a stupid kid!

Potter internally winces. He despises this body. Even when he manages to ignore its obvious weakness and short stature, there’s still the age: eleven. Eleven! Potter is fifteen! What has he ever done to deserve this? He’s not a pre-teen, and he’s not a damn babysitter!

Hansel giggles and disappears inside. A moment later, he's replaced by Harry. Potter scowls at this. _Some help you are. Prick_.

“Can I help you?” Potter turns quickly to the source of the voice, embarrassed that he didn't notice the old man's approach. The old man simply watches him.

 “You need a wand,” the man prods. Potter slowly nods. Yes, he supposes that they do.

The first dozen or so are failures. Even if one will respond to him, if Harry flicks their wrist, the lights will explode. Glass coats the floor, and though the man (Ollivander, apparently) quickly cleans it up, Potter can’t help but wonder if this is really safe. He has had his own fair share of bad picks, as well, and it seems as if they’ll never find the correct wand.

“This one perhaps?” Ollivander places yet another wand into Potter’s waiting hand. With a sigh, Potter tightens his grip and shifts his hand slightly to the right. He's not at all prepared for the sudden electric shock that traverses his arm. His wrist spasms, the wand moving out of control. In a panic, Potter falls away from front, leaving Harry alone to experience the cold wave that crashes down on him. Light bursts forth from the wand, and the edge of Harry’s mouth eases upwards. Perhaps he likes this magic thing, after all.

Hagrid arrives just in time to remain oblivious, and Harry goes to get fitted. There’s another boy already there.

“Draco Malfoy”, the boy proclaims proudly. “And you must be Harry Potter? I know all about you!”

Harry tries to smile, but it's more of a grimace as he mutters, “how nice.”

The boy looks stung, but Harry’s far too tired to care. The best he can manage is a small, apologetic smile. “Long day,” he offers. Draco nods and begins to prattle on about his own day and how excited he is to go to Hogwarts.

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” Harry tells him. He gathers up his new robe and leaves with Hagrid, fully expecting to never give the boy the time of day.

Harry knows better than to let people get close.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stares in mute frustration at the brick wall in front of him. Platform 9 ¾. 9 ¾! How the hell is he supposed to find that? Like all other train stations, the platforms here jump from 9 to 10. There is no damn platform 9 ¾! Maybe Potter was right, and this is all just an elaborate prank. Harry isn't sure why anyone would have gone to all that trouble for him, but it makes him furious. Why did he ever let himself believe in something as stupid as magic? God, no wonder the Dursley's have such an easy time hurting him. He's a bloody idiot!

He kicks at the wall in mute frustration. Hedwig's cage clatters against the ground, and Harry's mouth drops open. Did- did his leg just go through the wall? Harry glances frantically around, but no one seems to notice him and his strange predicament. Except, why is that strangely large family moving in his direction?

"First year?" The mother asks him sympathetically, and Harry can only nod in response. The woman smiles at him. "Don't worry, my Ron is your age. He and his brothers will help show you around." And then she's distracted by twins, and Harry pulls himself free and backs up a bit. Was his leg showing on the other side, then? Could dozens of students see his dangling leg? Or, oh God, is this like a one way mirror? Could everyone on the other side see how stupid he is? His face flames , and he almost misses the twins running through the wall and disappearing.

 _Just like our portal_ , Potter breathes. Harry ignores him and, as directed, lines up behind Ron. As he runs towards the wall, all he can think of is splatting against it and falling to the floor like a stupid little bitch, but to his upmost surprise, he makes it through. He's in a different platform entirely, now, and people are milling about everyone. Children hug sobbing parents goodbye, and Harry's heart stings. _At least you have us_ , Potter mock soothes him, and Harry moves onto the train.

He sits with Ron and tries not to appear too rude. Personally, he would prefer to spend the entire train ride staring out the window at their surroundings. He's never been this far from home before, he doesn't think. Everything is new and amazing right now, and he just wants some time to adjust and appreciate it. Ron won't shut up, though, and Harry feels like he should at least humor the boy. There's no need to make enemies, especially not this early in the game. Who knows when he might need someone willing to help him out.

A cart full of various candies arrives, and Hansel's squeal makes Harry wince. Never mind that only he can hear it, it's embarrassing! What if Hansel tries to respond to Ron and makes him look stupid? But Hansel won't stop whining, so Harry orders a few small candies. Seeing Ron's sheepish look and realizing that the other boy was probably not handed off a small fortune at the beginning of the school year, he gets a few extras and offers them up. Maybe Ron's glowing smile doesn't mean anything, but Harry does hope that the boy won't be too angry if they end up in different houses. The boy has been chattering about Gryffindor for the last half hour, now, and Harry's sure that he won't find himself there. Courageous? Helpful? Harry? As if! He's lucky that he's still alive. He can't afford to be worrying about other people. Besides, it's not like he could help them, anyway. What could a weakling like him ever do to help?

James stirs, but Potter pushes him away. Harry tries to ignore them both. He's not going to switch, not now. He needs to remain normal and alert. He needs to keep an eye out for hints as to how the year will go and who he should watch out for, and he doesn't want to draw attention to himself.

 _Good luck with that_ , Potter sneers, _How can the great Harry Potter hide from his adoring fans?_ Harry bites off the head of his frog with perhaps a bit too much force. Ron blabbers on.

XXXXX

Granger, a girl from the train, goes into Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy goes to Slytherin. Potter steps up to the large hat, and Harry wants to throw up. The Great Hall is near silent. A few first years are tittering nervously behind him, waiting for their turn to be sorted, but all of the upper classmen are staring intently at him. Their eyes trail his every move. He sits down and puts on the hat, and their eyes burn holes into his brain. Then the Sorting Hat is in his brain, and Harry is hiding behind Potter.

 _Get out._ Potter's voice is harsh and flat, devoid of emotion. _Get out!_ Stronger now, a tint of paranoia marking his words. The Hat examines the room in silent fascination while Potter growls and shifts his weight to better shield Harry.

 _Interesting,_ the Hat remarks, _very interesting._ The folds that represent eyes rest on Potter. _A born Slytherin,_ he remarks. The hat shifts to better observe Harry. _But what about Harry?_ Harry glares at the Hat. He doesn't care who it is or what it wants, it doesn't belong in his head! _Slytherin_ , the hat nods, and Harry realizes what he's done. Did Ron not just tell him how evil Slytherin was? Is he… can he be evil?

 _Don't listen to him, Harry,_ Potter says, but the Hat is already gone. Harry quickly surfaces. The hall is completely silent, now. Ron looks betrayed. Malfoy looks so smug that Harry wants to kill him, wants to wring his little throat and break his bones and…

On legs of jelly, Harry walks to the Slytherin table. He suffers through the long walk to the far end so that he can be alone. A few Slytherins begin to clap, finally inspiring the rest of the table to join in. Their cheers are mocking. Look, they seem to cry, we have the Potter, the famous Harry Potter. What will you do now? Harry wishes that they would shut up. He wants to slam their faces against the table, watch their nose collapse inward, shatter their skulls.

 _Evil._ The word resonates in his head. Evil. He's evil, just like Uncle Vernon always told him. Bile rises in his throat. Potter takes control of the body, but Harry is inwardly spinning out of control. Evil. Why couldn't he have been a Gryffindor? Why couldn't he be good?

Potter closes his eyes against a sharp stab of pain. Ice washes through his mind. He's floating, watching through eyes that no longer belong to him. He's tied to a body that is not his. There's food in front of him. Moving through molasses, he piles random things onto his plate. Mechanically, he lifts them to his mouth. He's aware that other Slytherins have moved to join him. They're trying to talk to him, but their words don't make any sense. He moves the fork up to his mouth and returns it to his plate. His head is throbbing now. James is behind him, a sneer on his lips.

 _Evil_ , James hisses, _I bloody knew it._ He laughs. Another voice joins is.

 _And fat, too._ This voice is more feminine, but just as cruel. Jay. Potter ignores her and keeps eating. _Food won't fill the hole, sweetie,_ Jay croons. _Nothing will. Evil is never satisfied, is it, James?_ They laugh. Silence. _Stop eating, you goddamn fatass!_

 _Isn't starving me Petal's job?_ Potter retorts. _Have you decided to join the Anorexia train?_ Jay hisses, and Potter laughs at the irony. And they're calling him bloody evil? Hypocrites, the lot of them.

Everyone is staring. Did he laugh out loud? Does it matter? Potter continues to eat, doing his best to ignore the twins and the headache alike. After what seems like forever, the meal ends, and Potter trudges up to the Slytherin Common Room, brain sloshing in his head with every step that he takes. He barely listens as their Professor, Snape, lists the house rules. He can feel someone else listening intently, memorizing who he will be. Potter just wants to collapse on a bed- he does get a bed here, right? No more trying to sleep on a mess of worn thin blankets?- and sleep.

Finally, he gets his wish.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, Harry isn't surprised when he's called to Dumbledore's office. It's not that he was expecting this, exactly, but he had known in advance that Dumbledore had a strange interest in him. After all, he's the boy hero, the "Boy Who Lived." That's why all of the teachers all but worship the ground that he walks on. Only Professor Snape seems to dislike him, and Harry isn't even sure that he minds this. It's better than Snape acting as if he's some sort of walking God. Some of the students seem to worship him, as well, and it creeps Harry out. He supposes that it's better than them hating him- quite a few students seem to hate him just because he's in Slytherin- but the attention is starting to get to him. After a life time of being ignored, it's hard to adjust to this.

Actually, Harry's finding it hard to adjust to a lot of things regarding his new life at Hogwarts. He stumbles a bit, feet dragging on the ground, and bites his lips to hold back a yawn. The first night here, Potter woke up at midnight with a throbbing head. Panicking, he had fought his way out of their tangled sheets and made it all the way to the door before he had remembered where he was. It had taken hours for him to get back to sleep. The bed, he claimed, was too soft. As silly as it sounds to be bothered by such a thing, Harry has to agree. He can't get used to it, either, and as a result finds himself constantly short on sleep. The large room doesn't help. For years, Harry had slept in a small cupboard under the stairs, and the space of his new room unnerves him. He can't help but feel exposed, as if he might be attacked at any moment. Having roommates- Draco and Blaise- further complicates the issue and ensures that Harry can barely close his eyes without being hit by panic. The idea of sleeping with others there just makes him feel too weak.

Admittedly, Potter has a very low tolerance for feeling weak. Harry doesn't see the problem with it. It inspires him to get stronger and improve, doesn't it? There's nothing at all wrong with that. Potter just likes to complain. Harry's a little surprised that Potter isn't with him now, but he knows that his alter will show up by the time that he reaches Dumbledore's office. He won't want to miss out on anything big, after all. Harry rolls his eyes and tries to remember Dumbledore's password. Something about a candy?

As predicted, by the time Dumbledore finishes offering him candy and tells him to please take a seat, Potter is hovering behind Harry, watching closely.  _Buddies in paranoia_ , Harry dryly laughs. He keeps his face composed and waits for Dumbledore to speak. Dumbledore takes his time, but Harry refuses to fidget or relax his posture. Even if Dumbledore is acting casually, this still seems to be an important meeting, and Harry doesn't want to look like a stupid little boy. Dumbledore seems to approve.

"Harry, my dear boy," he says, sadness coating his voice, and Harry's grip tightens reflexively around the chair's edge. He is no one's dear boy, let alone the headmaster's. He's never even met the man before! But he forces himself to nod and smile as if he's happy to be here, happy to be addressed in such a manner.  _Don't make enemies,_ he instructs himself _, don't make anyone angry with you._

Dumbledore's smile widens. "Harry," he repeats, "what are you doing in Slytherin?" Harry expected that the conversation would take this direction, but he pretends to be confused.

"I don't know sir." And he doesn't. He's not evil. He can't be evil. So why is he in the evil house?

Potter makes a groaning sound and squashes back James. Dumbledore, seeming not to notice Harry's inner distraction, continues, "I've received very positive reports of you from dear Hagrid, and I was told that you were becoming friends with Weasley. Why would you betray them and turn to Slytherin?"

Harry is unable to stop his mouth from dropping slightly. "The Hat picked Slytherin, sir. It wasn't my choice." Dumbledore shakes his head as if disappointed. Harry begins to feel trapped.

"We all have choices, Harry. I just hope that you can make the right ones." He smiles again. "I, for example, choose to have another lemon drop." Harry watches the old man pop another candy into his mouth. Why, he wonders, is Dumbledore so obsessed with this innocent old man façade? Dumbledore laughs as if he knows what Harry is thinking, but his face turns dark before he resumes his speech. "You have to understand, Harry. The last time the world faced Voldemort, there was much chaos and fear. Because you were the one to destroy him, as an infant, at that, they fear that you will be the next Dark Lord."

Harry feels as if he has been punched in the gut. "Headmaster, I'm not-" he blurts before he can stop himself. Dumbledore nods.

"I believe you, Harry. I can't say that I'm happy that you've been placed into Slytherin, but I trust that you won't betray us. However, you must be careful. We don't want people to think that their savior is going to follow the same path that Voldemort did."

Silence passes, allowing Dumbledore's words to sink in. However, Harry finds himself unable to face the idea of potentially being evil. He isn't. He  _isn't_. Potter quickly changes the topic. "Why do you say Voldemort's name, sir? Every other time we've heard him referred to, he's been called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Dumbledore shakes his head. "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. Always call things by their name, Harry."

"I understand, sir." Dumbledore smiles again, seeming to cheer up.

"I'll stop wasting your time now," he winks at Harry. "Just think about what I've told you. You could be good for this school and increase house unity. Just be careful." Potter nods and stands up. When Dumbledore turns back to his work, Potter leaves and returns to his dorm room. Blaise is down in the common room doing homework, and Draco is off doing god-knows-what. Grateful for the alone time, Potter settles down to read.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry stares down at the broom placed in front of him. In the back of his mind, James is all but jumping for joy. It's strange to see the normally caustic alter so happy, but apparently, he's a fan of Quidditch. How he even knows of the game is beyond Harry, but he's long used to taking his alters' strange habits and knowledge in stride. Besides, anything that stops James from yelling at him is a good thing. Without knowing it, Dumbledore had supplied James with enough ammo to last a life time. If James calls Harry "our new Dark Lord" one more time, Harry swears that he's going to commit altercide!

"Up!" Harry chants, and the broom flows smoothly up into his hand. It's wonderful, this magic. Harry's not weak and helpless anymore, he's a wizard! The thought makes him giddy. James pauses to sneer.  _Yes, a wizard. A dark wizard, how lovely._  But then his attention is back on the broom, and so Harry ignores the comment. Truth be told, he's rather interested in flying, as well. In the back of his mind, however, he can feel Potter sulking. Apparently, Potter is scared of heights.  _Pussy,_ hisses James.

Copying the other students, Harry gets on the broom, straddling it between his legs. He can feel the magic thrumming through it, and he doesn't have to expend any effort to hold it up, like he thought he would. He glances around at the other students. Some, like Draco, seem perfectly at ease, as if they've grown up flying. Others, mostly the muggle borns, have a strange mixture of excitement and terror on their faces. Many of them have taken on a white ting, and one boy looks like he might faint. He's not, Harry realizes, a muggle born after all, but Neville. Wasn't he the boy who lost his toad?

Neville seems to be getting paler and paler every second. He keeps shifting his weight from one foot to another.  _He shouldn't be doing that_ , James comments idly. Harry is about to ask why when the broom shoots out from underneath Neville. Neville keeps a tight grip, so up he goes! Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, yells, curses under her breath, and runs after Neville as if she means to catch him. She's a little too late; he slams into a tree and falls to the ground from a rather impressive height. Madam Hooch examines his arm and shakes her head. "Broken wrist," she mutters.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'" She hurries off with Neville, and James rolls his eyes. Harry eyes the other students, not trusting that any sort of order will be maintained with the teacher gone. He isn't surprised when, moments later, Draco begins looking around for something to mess with.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Harry's classmates burst out into laughter, but James grits his teeth.  _Bloody twat_ , he hisses, face contorting with anger. Some of the Gryffindors eye him curiously, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are glued to Draco, who shouts, "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him. "

"Give that here, Malfoy." Draco freezes and turns to face James. James is still staring at him, anger turning his posture stiff. Draco blanches, but recovers quickly.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it  _here!_ " James yells, and Harry notes how much deeper his voice is when he's angry. He has the vague feeling that he should care about this situation, but he's slightly shocked to see James caring about someone else, and it's taking away the panic. He watches as Draco flies up to the top of a tree and tosses the Remembrall from one hand to another. He seems to have decided to treat James's challenge like a game.

"Come and get it, Potter!" For a split second, Potter glances out at the field, but James shoves him out of the way. Then James is on the broom, launching himself into the air. Gasps sound behind him, but James is grinning fiercely. Harry realizes that yes, flying is enjoyable. The air lifts his robe behind him and swirls through his hair. The broom responds to his every motion, and it sits so comfortably beneath him. He's never touched a broom in his life- not a flying broom, at least- but it feels like he was born flying.

James releases the broom for a second to swipe his bangs to the side, and then he turns to Draco, still flying one handed. Draco's eyes widen. "Give it here," James calls to him, "or I'll knock you off that broom of yours!"

"Oh yeah?" Draco tries to sneer, but there's a hint of panic on his face. He shoots a worried glance down as if it's just now occurred to him that James might be serious. James leans forwards and grabs the broom tightly. It shoots forwards at Draco, who just barely dodges in time. James executes a sharp turn, holding the broom steady behind Draco. His eyes narrow. A few people are cheering him on from below, but James is still focused solely on Draco. He opens his mouth, but Draco cuts him off. "Catch it if you can!" He shouts, throwing the glass ball high into the air. Then he turns and streaks towards the ground.

 _Nice_ , Harry approves. It's a clever way to save face and appear as if this is just a friendly game. Or, it would be, if James didn't still look so furious. James has already leaned forward and pointed his broom down, and he's gaining speed with every second, rushing down steeply. The wind races past his ears and people are screaming. He allows a smirk to settle on his lips. He stretches out his hand, and, barely a foot above the ground, firmly grasps the Remembrall, pulls his broom straight, and gently lands. He pumps his fist into the air triumphantly.

"Harry Potter!" The cold voice makes Harry's heart sink, and it makes James's skin prickle with anger. They turn around to see Professor Snape staring at them. "Did you intend to break your neck?" he drawls, and Harry has to force James not to spit at the professor's feet.

"It wasn't his fault-" Parvati Patil begins, and Harry recognizes her as the girl who tried to shut Malfoy up when he first began taunting Neville. He smiles at her, but Professor Snape is glaring.

"That will be enough, Ms. Patil. Mr. Potter, you are coming with me." Harry wants to shrink away when the man grabs his wrist, but James's mouth widens into a hiss. He follows the professor, but he glares daggers into the man's back. Harry, meanwhile, is faced by a growing sense of confusion. They're not heading to Dumbledore's office, as he had expected. They're going to a classroom, and Professor Snape is requesting to see a student, Marcus Flint. Is he going to handle Harry's punishment?

The fifth year boy follows Professor Snape to an empty classroom. He seems as confused as Harry is, but Harry decides that he doesn't like him. His face is mean, somehow. James rolls his eyes.  _He's a Slytherin, of course he's a slimy snake._

"I suggest you replace Higgs," Snape drawls.

Flint seems to understand what this means, and replies, "This boy is our seeker?"

"Potter," Snape demands, "was that your first time on a broom?" Harry slowly nods. James won't allow him to say 'Yes, sir', and he hopes he's not being too rude. Luckily, Snape doesn't seem to expect that of them, perhaps because his view of them is already so low.

"He caught a Remembrall after a fifty-foot dive and landed." Now Flint is beaming.

"You're going to join our Quidditch team," he informs Harry. "I'm your Captain." James is indignant at the wording, but Flint, for all his close examination of Harry, doesn't seem to notice. "You're built light, like a Seeker," he nods, "but you'll need a good broom. A Nimbus 2000, maybe." For a moment, a sneer touches his lips, and Harry feels a flash of shame. He doesn't understand any of this, and he does know that Flint is mocking him for this. At least he won't be expelled.

When he returns to his dorm room, Draco is waiting sullenly. "What was that all about?" he demands.

Harry meets his eyes and calmly responds, "I don't take well to bullies, Draco." The boy makes a face. "If it helps any," Harry says, "We weren't docked any points. I was made Seeker." Now Draco's struggling between shock and admiration.

"You're the only first year Seeker we've had for centuries," he chokes out. Harry nods. Flint has already bragged about this. Draco shakes his head. "I'm surprised that Snape is allowing this." He eyes Harry as if Harry cheated somehow, and James silently threatens to pound his face in.

"He didn't look like he wanted to," Harry admits.  _Because he's an oily bastard,_ James continues. Draco seems mollified. Now that the ordeal is over, he wants to claim a part in helping Harry reach fame. Harry doesn't mind. Any ally is a good ally.

James spits over their shoulder before they leave their dorm for dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry picks at his food and keeps his eyes trained downwards. A good amount of noise is being made by the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables can't seem to stop glancing over at him. He can make out enough of their whispered conversations to know that he's the topic. After all, what kind of Slytherin would defend a student who was being bullied? What kind of Potter would be a Slytherin in the first place?

 _Not a very good one,_  James smiles. There's a faint sense of agreement and disagreement at the same time. After a moment, Harry works out that the new alter, whoever the hell they are, agrees that a good Slytherin would never defend a kid like Neville, but whoever it is isn't quite fond of Potters. Harry hopes that James and the new alter won't fight much. Things are complicated enough already.

 _Someone wants to talk to you_ , Potter warns him. Harry turns around to see a second year Gryffindor staring down at him. Beside him, Draco nudges Crabbe and kicks Goyle, preparing his goons for a fight, if the need arises. Harry meets the Gryffindor's gaze and waits for him to speak. After a moment, the Gryffindor grins. "I knew it!" he proclaims, "You really are one of us, aren't you? I don't know how you managed to get sorted with these lousy gits, but don't worry, we have your back. We knew the Boy Who Lived wasn't a snake!"

James breaks out into a wide grin before Harry can compose himself, and the Gryffindor returns to his table ecstatic. Next to him, Draco scowls. "What was that all about?" He demands. "Damn Gryffindors. Don't listen to them, Potter." James scowls in Draco's direction even as the new alter fiercely agrees and wants to tell the impudent Gryffindor just how wrong he is. Harry turns back to his dinner and resumes picking at it. Classes have barely even started, and already, he's being singled out. He wonders when everyone will turn on him.

XXXXX

Harry finds himself again sitting in Dumbledore's office, again waiting for the man to stop preoccupying himself with candies and just get on to whatever he wants to tell him. Why must the man be so intent on taking his time? Annoyed, Potter decides to intervene. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nods, turning his attention to Potter. "Yes, I did." There's a pause, and Potter sighs. Dumbledore winks before continuing, and Harry is glad that Potter is more patient than he is. He wouldn't be reacting so well at the moment. "I simply wanted to congratulate you," Dumbledore says, and Potter raises an eyebrow. Behind him, James smirks, already knowing what the Headmaster is going to say. Indeed, he continues, "You're already doing so much for the school! It was wonderful of you to help Longbottom like that. Already, people are realizing that not all Slytherins are evil."

 _I don't believe it for a second_ , James mutters,  _The only reason you seem not evil is because I intervened. Like a real Slytherin would ever do that!_ Harry frowns for a different reason.  _Are we the man's PR agent, now?_ Potter ignores them both.

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?" After all, there was no way that the Headmaster had called him up just for that. Dumbledore takes off his glasses and spends a moment polishing them. Harry mentally groans. Dumbledore puts them back on and smiles. Potter keeps his face blank.

"Yes, actually. I was simply wondering… you see, I already know that the Gryffindors are quite taken in by you. They're impressed by your heroics. I was wondering how the Slytherins are reacting to you standing up for a fellow classmate?"

"I don't quite know, sir. I think that they were impressed enough with my spot on the Quidditch team to let it drop. No one's really expressed a problem with it, to my knowledge."  _Because of me,_ James reminds them smugly.  _Slytherins never do anything good._

 _Oh shut up, will you?_ Harry internally buries his head in his hands as if has a headache. Potter realizes that, distracted, he missed something the Headmaster had said. Judging by his pensive face, it was likely that he was simply commenting about how 'that's good.'

"May we leave now, sir?" Potter asks. Dumbledore startles.

"Oh, ah, one last question. My dear boy, how have the Dursleys been treating you? It's been pointed out to me that you're a little under fed."

For a moment, the world slows down. Potter tries to open his mouth and brush away the Headmaster's concern, but James laughs scornfully.  _Too late._

"The Dursleys are wonderful," Petal blinks up at Dumbledore innocently, "I'm so thankful that they were willing to take me in as a baby! They didn't have to do that, you know. They already had their own child to take care of, and I was such a burden, what with my learning curve, and all." The speech is well rehearsed. She beams at him. "As for being underweight, I really have no idea how! I eat like a pig. Well, I have been since I came here, at least. The food's just too good." She shrugs her shoulders, feet swinging back and forth innocently.

Dumbledore's eyes widen. "I see. Are you sure? Hagrid informed me that they didn't seem to think much of you and were horribly averse to magic."

"I'm positive! Gosh, how can you judge them based on that? Anyone would be scared of a giant man intruding on their home and threatening them with magic! Even if they knew that it existed, 'course they'd be scared of it. They're just people! They did the best that they could with me, and I'm so glad that they were willing to put up with my own magic. Some people might have preferred to throw me out into the streets or kill me on a spot! It's really horrible, isn't it? But no, the Dursleys are wonderful."

Dumbledore frowns, taking in the much lighter voice and expressive movements. Petal smiles placidly and waits. "Potter" Dumbledore slowly says, "Are you alright?"

"Of course!" Petal's voice pitches higher. "Why wouldn't I be?" Only her feet gaining speed as they swing back and forth betrays her agitation. Inside, Harry and Potter wait with baited breaths, silently begging the man to buy it. To their dismay, he shakes his head.

"I would appreciate you not lie to me, Potter."

Petal bows her head so that when anger flashes across her face, he can't see. The nails of her right hand dig into her palm, drawing blood. "Sorry, sir," she whispers, "but they really are good people. They're a little scared of magic, it's true, but they were never bad to me. They may not have liked me as much as they liked Dudley, but that's just natural, since he was their birth son. Please don't be mistaken. If I am at all bitter, it's my own ungratefulness."

"I see." Dumbledore finally replies, still eyeing Petal. "I suppose that you can go now."

"Thank you, sir." Petal lifts her head and bows it in respect but walking lightly from the room. As soon as she reaches the hallways, her gait becomes agitated.  _You little fucking bitch,_  she silently murmurs to Harry,  _you almost got us fucking revealed! For once in your life, just once in your godamn life, can't you do something right?_

 _James is the one who brought attention to us, not Harry,_ Potter reminds her. She laughs harshly, encouraging a few Hufflepuff girls to edge wearily away.

_Right. Let's blame James for trying to be a good person! Let's blame James for trying to help someone else! Let's reward little fucking Potter for thinking that he's oh so much better than everyone else. Let's give him a medal for being self centered. While we're at it, why not just allow him to make us look like the next Dark Lord? Or, Hell, is that what you're planning? Do you think being a Dark Lord will give you enough ego pats? I bet even that won't be enough for you. What is wrong with you? Why can't you just be satisfied with what you have instead of always trying to place the blame on someone else?_

Petal is seething by the time she reaches their dorm. She slams the door and throws their shoes against the floor, over near the wall. Now that they're alone, her voice escapes in angry whispers.

"You better not get an inflated view of yourself, you little freak. You may be at a school of magic, everyone here may think you're a damn hero, but you're still just a worthless brat. You better not forget that, or you'll regret it. I'll make sure of that."


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Harry gets no sleep. The next morning, Petal doesn't allow him to eat. James won't let him talk to Draco ( _that dirty Slytherin)_ , so Harry sits at the table alone and tries not to let his head fall onto the piece of toast he's picking at. He knows better than to try to sneak a bite. He used to play this game with Vernon and Petunia. For three days, he'd be left unfed. Then they'd set breakfast right in front of him. If he resisted temptation to eat, he'd get to eat lunch. If he tried to eat, he got beaten. Simple, really. It happened the most during the beginning and middle of summer. He had to be better fed by the time school rolled around. They couldn't let anyone know, of course.

Harry wonders if it's okay now because no one is paying attention, if Petal only plans to do this occasionally, or if Petal doesn't care if they get found out because the action can't be traced back to his aunt and uncle. Judging from her reaction yesterday, she probably still wants to avoid detection. He should be able to eat by dinner, then. No use overreacting now.

The bell rings, and Harry heads to the dungeons. Potions is the first class of the day. It usually is, save for Tuesdays and Thursdays, when Slytherins have Charms. Either way, the day starts off with Gryffindor. Harry doesn't understand why Slytherins and Gryffindors share so many classes, what with the intense house rivalries, and all. Slytherin has Flying and Astronomy with Gryffindor, as well, and only History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, respectively. Maybe the Headmaster really is trying to promote house equality, but somehow, Harry doesn't think that he's doing a great job at it.

Slowly, the Potions classroom fills up. As always, Harry is sitting off to the side, closer to the back than to the front. Blaise sits next to him. Draco is off near the front of the room with his cronies, and Harry knows that he enjoys sitting near Weasley and Granger so that he can mock them more. Snape, in his infinite fairness, never sees it necessary to put a stop to this.

 _Of course he doesn't,_  Jay sneers,  _he only cares about the feelings of his precious little Death Eaters, of course._

 _Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters!_ Jay just rolls her eyes in response. Harry is getting so tired of this. He's had a variation of this argument every Potions class since the school year started and Jay realized that she had the most talent with Potions. If anyone but Snape taught the class, that would be fine, but as things stand, Jay spends every available second making snide comments and glaring. At least now Snape has a perfectly justifiable reason for hating Harry. He must wonder why his own student holds so much distaste for him. The other Slytherins seem to worship the ground he walks on.

 _That's because he spoils them rotten,_ Jay promptly informs Harry.  _Now shut up. Class is starting, and you're useless here._

History of Magic is the next class, and, as always, Harrison is out within the first few minutes to keep Harry from dropping off to sleep. At first, Harry tried to pay attention, he really did, but the class is just so dry the best he could manage was to scribble down a few odd notes and then fall to drawing stars on the paper. Somehow, Harrison manages to maintain an active interest, so now Harry just leaves it all up to him. Harrison has always been their fall back academic. A nerd, as James so kindly puts it. He has a superb memory, a fantastic attention span, and is talented at retention of details. Really, there's little reason for Harry to even pretend to stay front for this class. If last week was any indication, the students are going to start dropping like flies within the next few minutes, and it's not like the few Ravenclaws left awake will know enough about him to recognize the change, anyway.

Harry closes his eyes for a moment and allows Harrison to take full control of the body. Then he's inside. Potter isn't here, though Harry can't imagine why. Usually, they're both watching front together. To be fair, going to Hogwarts has been a rather large change. He never imagined that Jay would be a daily necessity (and can't say that he enjoys the change), so perhaps the fronting team is still shifting to adjust to their schedule. He's sure that Potter will be out later. For now, he should probably make use of the rare alone time to rest and think.

The most urgent issue seems to regard hiding. Because no one ever paid much attention to them, Harry's DID went unnoticed for years both at home and at school. Now that he's some sort of celebrity, Harry wonders how he and his alters will manage. He and Potter can switch back and forth without notice, but while James and Jay may be similar to each other, there's no way that either of them can pass for Harry. Harry wonders if he should stop allowing Jay to perform potions for him and cut James off the Quidditch team. If his alters can do it, he can right?

… No. Not really, no. Would it be better, then, for Harry himself to front less? The school expects a perfect Gryffindor, anyway. James is a bastard, but he fits their idea of the Boy Who Lived better. He'd probably be better accepted. Besides, if he could draw attention from them…

A door slams open. Harry looks up in surprise, wondering if something has triggered Freakazoid without his knowledge, but the alter in front of him is someone completely new. They do look familiar, and Harry recognizes some of their features as comparable to Malfoy's. The hair is black with green dyed tips, and the eyes are emerald, but he has the same thin face, unmarred skin, and pointed chin. Actually, now that Harry's noticed it, the overall resemblance is striking. The intense glare probably doesn't hurt.

"I suppose you're our new Slytherin alter?" Harry wonders if he should be concerned that they've split into a new alter just to satisfy Slytherin stereotypes. He wonders what it means that they identified Draco as the prime Slytherin example. He wonders just when he stopped caring.

"Snake," the boy proudly proclaims, with a strange half nod. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares. Harry watches with distant amusement.

"I suppose you dislike the idea of me handing the system over to a Gryffindor persecutor?" Snake doesn't answer the question, but his glare is telling enough. Harry laughs. "Yes, I suppose that would be a bad idea, if only because Petal would take it as an invitation to starve us half to death. After all, why let one persecutor run the club and not another?"

Snake just rolls his eyes. Harry takes this to mean that he can't think of a decent response. After a moment, Harry rests back against the chair he's sitting in and closes his eyes, hoping Snake will take the hint. Whether he understands or not, he doesn't seem inclined to respect it.

"What are you going to do about Dumbledore?"

"Excuse me?" Harry doesn't open his eyes.

"What if he keeps bothering us about the past that he abandoned us to? What will you do then?"

"Excuse me?" Despite himself, interest sparks in Harry. "What do you mean, abandoned us to?"

"Do you really think that the great Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't keep track of his precious Boy Who Lived? Don't be  _stupid_ , Harry. He must have known even beforehand how the Dursleys would react to you, and his questioning you? No way was that because you were underweight."

"Sod off," Harry mutters, squeezing his eyes firmly shut. When Snake starts talking again, he returns to the body and watches Harrison take notes, shutting Snake out of his awareness. If there's one thing that Harry is not, it's paranoid. His protectors can be on the cautious side, but he's not going to listen to Snake's blind prejudice. He's heard enough Slytherin hate to last him a life time.

And James goes to his first Quidditch practice with a bunch of Gryffindor haters on Friday. Lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, admittedly, a bit of a filler chapter of sorts. There is important information in this chapter, and it does introduce alters, but it's mainly used as a set up to so that too much doesn't happen at once.
> 
> Also, if I use any terms you don't understand, just ask. I forget sometimes that not everyone studies psychology as extensively as I do!


	7. Chapter 7

James joins the rest of the Slytherin team out on the Quidditch grounds and waits for them to acknowledge him. Flint half smiles in his direction and boasts about how he's their new Seeker, but the other Slytherins portray more hostile emotions. They seem to be sizing James up, and Harry isn't sure that James can make the cut. His superiority complex and harsh pose are Slytherin enough, but sheer disgust for the situation marks his face. No proper Slytherin would allow their feelings to be so obvious, and the upper classmen know this. They must be thinking about how he's too young and foolish to play Quidditch.

One of their mouths opens in a sneer. Harry notes with a hint of distaste that they have rather bad teeth. "So, Flint." They hit the Slytherin captain on the back in a gesture that, while obviously meant to look friendly, must hurt. "How much do you think Dumbledore had to bribe Snape to get his precious Golden Boy on our team?"

Flint frowns. "Snape told me that he's a really good player."

Now another boy slaps his shoulder. "It's called lying, you dumbass!" Now James's sneer looks more Slytherin. He shakes his head and goes to change into his new uniform.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?!" The first boy demands. James ignores him. A second later, James is slammed up against a locker. Freakazoid and Sniffles push close to front, but James ignores them both and glares up at the older boy.

"Knock it off!" Flint shouts, "For God's sake, how am I supposed to explain this to Snape? How do you think this is going to reflect on our team?!" After a moment's pause, the boy releases his hold on James, who casually wipes off his shirt as if he's simply gotten a speck of dirt on it. Seemingly oblivious to the looks he's receiving, he goes to change. When he returns, the others are finishing preparations, as well. Flint is checking a small suit case. He catches James's eye and gestures him over.

"You probably need to have the game explained to you. You also probably need a broom, but you can use the training broom for now; Snape's looking into it. Anyway. You're the Seeker. What you need to do is find the Snitch when it's released onto the field. That." Flint points at a small gold ball with fluttering silver wings.  _No duh,_ James yawns in the headspace. Harry again finds himself startled by his alters' knowledge. Again, he resolves not to think about it. He tries to pay attention to Flint's lesson, but James already seems to know it all, so he eventually realizes there's no point. The rest of the team seems to be getting rather tired of waiting around, as well.

Finally, Flint finishes. However, he has another surprise in store. Harry's blood goes cold, and even James, for all his Gryffindor bravery, feels a flash of fear.

"Before we can get on the field, I need to warn everyone that Madam Pomfrey wants to see all the Quidditch players tomorrow for a physical exam. Basic stuff, for those of you who've played before: height, weight, general health. Don't stress out about it, she's not going to cut anyone from the team—she just wants to see what she needs to keep an eye on." The rest of the team doesn't care and continues on to the field. James remains frozen.

 _I don't think we should continue with this,_ Harry says quietly,  _They already had a good Seeker, anyway, and it's not like the Slytherins seem to like us much. Besides, you don't really want to help the Slytherins win the House Cup, so I'm sure we can just find another way to practice._

James swallows hard and walks on to the field.

XXXXX

Potter, Harry, and James wait together outside of Madam Pomfrey's office. They're last in line; if something goes wrong, they don't want anyone else to be there to witness it. James has set their mouth into a grim line. He talks to no one, not even Harry. Potter mutters his thanks that James has shut up, but even that doesn't break through to him. For his part, Potter looks about ready to throw up. He's already begged Harry to just pull them off the team, but Harry isn't sure that that's such a great idea. Students from all houses are watching him, waiting for him to screw up. If he does manage to fly well, that will be a point in his favor. If he quits before he's even played in a game, people are sure to notice, and he doubts that it will bode well.

Potter was annoyed with his  _stubborn logic,_ though he did stop arguing. Harry's glad for that. There's enough noise in his head without Potter griping, right now. He wishes that Petal would stop freaking out. More importantly, he wishes that she would realize that not letting him eat the day of a physical exam isn't going to help the whole "underweight" thing.

 _Rocks_ , says Potter suddenly,  _do you think we could hide rocks on us?_

 _How do you think that would ever go unnoticed?_ James sneers.  _I'm sure she uses magic to detect our weight._

_Could we spell ourselves heavier, then? Some sort of reverse levitation spell?_

_How the hell would we do that, you blubbering fool?_

_Reverse the levitation spell…? It's worth a shot, isn't it?_

James actually snorts, and the student in front of them, a Ravenclaw, glances back curiously. James smiles weakly before replying to Potter, taking care not to mouth the words as he thinks them.  _Sure, sure. And if it goes wrong, then what? We don't even have our wand on us! Do you even_ think _, Potter?_

_I bet Lily could do it._

James falls silent. Harry wonders if that's true. He knows that Lily is great at magic- she's mastered all the charm spells so far, though Harry himself gets them right only sometimes- but is working magic without a wand even possible?

They're the only ones still waiting. The examinations are taking longer than was expected, and Harry is missing dinner. He doesn't mind. The hunger doesn't bother him. Actually, he can't really feel it. Like all other bodily sensations, it's distant and removed. Usually, this is an advantage. It makes him wonder, however, if he has any injuries that he just hasn't been able to feel but that a nurse could easily notice.

 _Healing magic,_ Potter cuts in,  _God, why didn't I think of this before? Screw the weight, they already know you're too light. I'm going to get Lily to heal us._

_Can Lily really do that?_

James gives Harry the most scathing look he can manage.  _How do you think we're still alive?_ He grudgingly nods at the door Potter left through.  _Glad you thought of that. I don't think we have any major wounds, but we probably have a few scars that Lily never bothered to heal._

_Are scars really worth worrying about?_

James shifts his weight and glances at the wall behind Harry. Now, his crossed arms look more defensive than strong.  _They spell things,_ he says finally.  _We probably shouldn't let anyone see them._

Before Harry can ask about why he doesn't remember this, Potter rushes out with Lily in tow. The eleven year old smiles hesitantly at Harry before slipping into the body. Curious, Harry edges closer to front. He watches as Lily closes her eyes and gently touches her pinkie and thumb together in a modified meditation position. Magic stirs somewhere inside them and washes over there body. It's slow at first. There's a look of intense concentration on Lily's face, and Harry realizes that she's scanning for major injuries.

 _We need to hurry,_ Potter warns,  _Pomfrey is going to call us in soon._

 _You can't rush her,_ James argues. Lily ignores them both. Harry feels the magical warmth concentrating on his thighs, now. Vernin must have stepped on him and left distinct bruises. Or maybe there's a minute fracture Lily didn't think to fix before. It's probably the second option, as Lily spends quite a bit of time there. Potter begins to walk around the headspace in brisk, tight circles. His nerves are contagious. When the door opens, Harry jumps. James just makes very tight fists.

"Potter?" Pomfrey asks. Lily starts. Her mouth twitches upwards into a grimace, and she follows the nurse into the hospital wing. "Alright dear, just take off your shirt and go stand on the scale, please." For a moment, Lily seems shocked. Her face flushes when she remembers that Harry's male. She does as requested, but when the nurse turns her back to get the clipboard, she closes her eyes and lets a surge of magic flow into their back. While the nurse is taking measurements, Lily's unfocused gaze betrays her distraction. Thankfully, Pomfrey doesn't seem to notice the flux of magic.

Madam Pomfrey moves on to checking Harry's general health. Lily goes very still, barely breathing. "Nervous?" the nurse asks. Lily's nod comes just a little later than it should have. Suddenly, the nurse draws in a sharp breath, the air whistling through her teeth. "Oh," she says faintly. "Stay here, alright? I just… need to check something with the headmaster, alright dear?" She hurries off to call Dumbledore. Lily's head has dropped down onto her chest. Her eyes are wide but still.

 _Lily!_ Potter hisses. She doesn't respond.  _Lily, at least heal the other injuries,_ he pleads. Slowly, magic courses through their body, touching everything but their back, where Madam Pomfrey had seen the injury. Harry isn't sure if Lily's really doing a good job; she doesn't seem focused on anything, and she won't talk to them. James is white with anxiety, though he's trying to hide it.

The door opens. In walks Headmaster Dumbledore.


	8. Chapter 8

For a long moment, no one speaks. With a quiet shudder, Lily retreats back into the headspace and disappears. Potter takes over and forces himself to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Is something wrong, Headmaster?" He asks, forcing innocence into his face.

Somehow, Dumbledore has the gall to smile cheerfully back at him. "Well, that's what we're about to find out." The headmaster lets Pomfrey walk him over to Harry and watches as she gestures towards Harry's back. He makes a lot of "hmmm" and "ah" noises, but says nothing.

 _How bad is it?_  Harry wonders.

 _I don't know._ Potter is staring straight ahead. By this point, anyone would be nervous. There's no weakness in showing fear. That doesn't stop James from trying to look brave, of course, but he's not doing a very good job of it.

"Pomfrey," Dumbledore finally says, "will you leave us for a moment?" Potter can't see her face, but her agreement is stuttered. He can't bear to turn around until she's gone.

"Headmaster?" He swallows past the lump in his throat. There's a slight trembling in his hands, which he tries to still. Dumbledore offers a half smile, but the man's eyes seem to be turned inward. Potter isn't sure if this is a good or bad sign. Would it be better or worse to interrupt the man before he can reach a conclusion? The suspense is getting to him. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that he can manage is a hoarse croak. He closes his lips tight, but Dumbledore startles.

"Sorry," Dumbledore apologizes, forcing a smile back to his face. "Hm, let us see. Well, Harry. Are you aware of the large scar on your back?"

Potter isn't sure how to answer. People should remember how they got scars, right? But in truth, he's rather clueless. The incidents of physical abuse all blur together, and he doesn't want to describe it wrong and alert the Headmaster to anything. "I'm not sure," he admits. "I've gotten a number of small scars before from silly things, but I doubt that any of those would have caught your attention." He falls silent, hoping that the Headmaster will explain.

Dumbledore reaches out and gently touches the scare. Potter throws himself forwards, whirling around to face the man. At the same moment, Harry feels a burst of sharp pain from around his upper leg. Before he can stop it, there's a rushing sensation in his head. His sight blurs and sensations switch off. He can no longer feel the body because he is no longer in the body. He's watching from a distance as the body falls backwards onto the floor and scoots under a desk, never removing its terrified eyes from a very shocked Dumbledore's face.

 _Bruises,_ Potter whispers in horror. The child alter doesn't hear. He's still staring intently forwards. Dumbledore shifts his weight, and he leans farther back. Dumbledore takes a step towards him, and his entire body goes limp. He's trembling like a leaf as Dumbledore carefully walks over, but he makes not a single noise.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asks. Bruises doesn't respond. He flinches when Dumbledore reaches out to touch his shoulder, and tears are leaking from the corners of his eyes, but he refuses to so much as whimper. After a moment of hesitation, Dumbledore removes his hand and slowly backs away. Bruises never looks away or relaxes. For his part, Dumbledore seems torn as to how he should be reacting. "Harry?" he asks again.

The world swirls slightly. Harry blinks heavily, eyes remaining closed for seconds at a time. His head is beginning to hurt. His muscles have locked up, and it's a struggle to relax them. He takes a deep breath and looks up at the Headmaster. He nods, the motion making him sick, and grabs hold of the nearest bed railing, pulling himself to his feet. He sways slightly. Black spots appear in front of his vision. It's getting harder, he notes, to recall what just happened. The memory is slipping rapidly away from his conscious, leaving behind only the knowledge that Bruises was out and an intense feeling of fear.

Harry nods again. He's unsure that he can speak. He finds himself swaying back and forth is quick bursts. The motion make him dizzy.  _Breathe, Harry,_ Potter whispers, and Harry draws in another sharp breath.

Dumbledore looks as if he wants to ask something, but changes his mind. "I'll get Madam Pomfrey to heal you," he says, rubbing a hand down the side of his face in exhaustion, "but I will need to see you in my office tomorrow." After another moment, he leaves. Harry listens to the quiet murmurs that leak under the door. He sits down on one of the beds and waits. When Pomfrey returns, he drinks the potion she gives him and allows her to cast a spell on his back. He puts back on his shirt and stands up to leave.

"Harry." Her tone is sympathetic. "I wanted to make you stay the night. It's a rather severe wound, you know… If you ever need to talk, come see me alright? I'd recommend that you talk to your head of house, but I know that Snape isn't always—take care, Harry." Without turning back, Harry nods. He leaves the hospital wing. He walks back up to the Slytherin Common Room.

"Where have you been?" Draco asks. "The other Quidditch players returned ages ago. You missed dinner, you know. Where are you going?"

Sitting in his bed with the curtains drawn around him isn't enough. He goes into the shower. With his closes still on, he turns the water up as hot as it will go and aims the flow for the far corner. He sits directly under the faucet and closes his eyes. Water splashes down onto his face, burning him. He ignores it. There's a pressure building inside of his head, begging to be let out. With shaking hands, he grabs hold of his hair. Then he's pulling, shaking his head back and forth, slamming his head from his knees to the wall and back again. Strangled gasps echo around the room. He bangs his head hard, and the soap dish falls to the bottom of the shower with a clang. Harry falls silent.

He sits there until the water runs cold. He doesn't worry about using all the hot water up. A normal wizard would just spell the thing to the right temperature. He doesn't worry about being missed. Who would ever care about him? His clothes are soaking wet. He gets out of the shower and stands in front of the sink. He grips the porcelain counter and leans forwards, staring at himself in the mirror. Have there always been such prominent bags under his eyes? He reaches up with his right hand and brushes his bangs off of his forehead. His gaze rests on his scar.

Someone rattles on the doorknob. "You okay in there?" The voice is Blaise's. Harry looks from the door to the toiletries he just knocked onto the floor. Mechanically, he walks over and flushes the toilet. He turns on the sink and picks up the soaps, bottles of shampoo, and tooth brush containers by hand. He turns off the sink. He unlocks the bathroom door and brushes past Blaise. He goes to bed.

He lays there for hours. He refuses to let his eyes open or to even allow his body to stretch and fidget. Someone tries to shake him, once, and he hears talk of getting the nurse. Someone reasons that he just came from the nurse, and maybe he's depressed because he got cut from the team? Eventually, all noise ceases. Even his head is silent, for once. Harry is glad. He can't stand their taunting. Not tonight.

When sleep claims him, he dreams of shadowed fingers, screaming voices, and pain. He hears someone crying. When he wakes with a start what can't be but an hour later, he realizes that he was the hurting child, but it doesn't make the nightmare any less discomforting. He doesn't fall asleep again.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry isn't sure how much time has passed, but he really wishes that Dumbledore would speak already. If Dumbledore can't handle talking about yesterday, he never should have told Harry to come here. It's not awkward, it's terrifying. Every passing second swells Harry's anxiety until he feels like he's going to burst. Why didn't Dumbledore decide what he was going to say before hand? Does he not realize how hard this is for Harry, or does he just not care?

"Headmaster," Potter speaks up, "I need to study for Potions class. If you're not going to say anything, I should be going now."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Dumbledore sighs and faces Potter. "My dear boy-" His voice seems to fail him. Harry inwardly rolls his eyes.  _Drama Queen._

"I don't suppose you've remembered how you got that wound?" Dumbledore asks. Potter shakes his head, so the man continues, "I don't know how to tell you this, but it appears that you were severely abused. And… Well. It's a muggle condition, I don't know much about it, but… Harry, do you know what Multiple Personality Disorder is?" The Headmaster misinterprets the shock on Potter's face. "I'm not saying that you have this! Please don't misunderstand, I'm not an expert…"

It's too late. He's said the magic words. Petal jolts to her feet, almost pushing the chair to the floor. "I do not have multiple personalities." Dumbledore's mouth falls open before he can get a hold of himself. Petal continues, voice low and dark. "I am not a fucking crazy! And how DARE you accuse my Aunt and Uncle of abusing me! You low life _scum_."

Harry doesn't think that she could pack more scorn into her voice if she tried. Glaring daggers doesn't begin to describe the look that she's giving the man in front of them. Inside, her thoughts are racing, searching for something, anything, that will convince Dumbledore that he's wrong. When she starts reaching for magic, Potter intervenes.

"I'm sorry, sir." He sits back down. "What exactly do you mean by multiple personalities? And severe abuse? Severe? Wouldn't I remember that, sir? Wouldn't someone have noticed? I don't understand. It's just a scar. I'm sorry for overreacting- both yesterday and today- but it's stressful trying to adjust to a new school and having magic." He lets out a small laugh. "Not that it's not amazing, but."

Dumbledore swallows heavily and seems to choose his words carefully. "By multiple personalities, I mean exactly that. I believe that you have alternate personalities inside of you, and I believe one of them just surfaced. If you can remember what they do, that's very good. Your mind isn't completely gone, then. That would be why you don't remember the abuse. And Harry, I have no doubt that you were abused. I'm so sorry."

"I still don't understand, sir." Potter's voice is soft, but Harry hears the venom he's struggling to hide. What does Dumbledore mean, completely gone?

"Perhaps another time, then. I don't think that it would be right to rush this. I don't want to scare you." Dumbledore looks relieved by this excuse. Suddenly, his brow furrows. "Harry? Did you feel, ah, strange when you were sorted?"

"I don't—I don't believe so, sir. I was nervous, yes. If you're asking if I was an alter-" Harry winces slightly at his wording "-I really don't think I was."

"It's possible, though. Very possible… I wonder if perhaps you're not as Slytherin as we thought?"

 _That slimy bastard,_ Potter shouts, hurt flashing across his face.  _What does this man have against Slytherins? They make up a fourth of his school, for God's sake!_

 _That's my phrase,_ James smirks. Potter looks at him in surprise, and James tenses.  _What, I'm not allowed to front just for the Hell of it?_  Potter shakes his head and moves aside. James closes his eyes and settles into the body. He surveys the room and realizes that Dumbledore is watching him closely.

"Are you Harry's Slytherin alter?"

James's face is almost comical. "Excuse me?! I am not a bloody Slytherin! I'm as far from Slytherin as it gets, thankyouvery much! I am not a snake! I am not evil or a bully or even ambitious! I'm a Gryffindor, you prat!" The indignation in his voice is strong, and what he's doing now can only be described as sulking. Potter bites his lips hard, muffled snorts shaking his frame. James glares at him, and Harry dissolves into laughter.

Dumbledore's eyes widen. "A Gryffindor, you say?" Harry doesn't like the man's smile. "Well, I'm very glad to hear that! I must admit, it does make me weary to think that Harry could be a Slytherin through and through. It would make a great many people very nervous."

 _Yeah,_ Potter sneers _, people like you._ James just smiles widely. Only Harry feels the slight annoyance reminiscent of  _only I can insult him like that, you prick!_

"Really, though, I am very glad to meet you. What is your name?"

"James," James nods. He doesn't miss Dumbledore's surprise. "Yes, like our father. I was named James before we learned about that, but I guess some part of us still remembered." James shrugs. Dumbledore looks to be beside himself with joy.

"It is a real pleasure to meet you, young man! It may be too much to ask, but I wish I could see you more often. You seem very pleasant."

 _You've known him for all of five minutes!_ Potter rages. James smirks, and Harry backs away inside. James catches his drift and sighs loudly.

"Sorry, Headmaster, but we really do need to be going soon. We don't want people asking unfortunate questions, you understand. Besides, Harry kind of doesn't know about me yet, and I don't plan for him to." Despite Dumbledore's earlier comment about the horrors of losing time, his eyes are twinkling. For show, James lets his head fall to his chest before he moves inside and gestures to Potter.

 _All yours,_ he mouths _. But try to give him a good show, alright?_ Potter rolls his eyes, but reluctantly agrees.

"Sir?" Potter asks, acting disorientated and confused. He shifts on the seat, blinks heavily, and tries to look as if he's deciding to forget something. "Can I please go back to my room now?"

Dumbledore nods and smiles kindly. "Yes, you may."

Potter gets up and walks to the door. He pauses and decides to take a chance. "Can I still go home over the summer, sir?"

Dumbledore fiddles with a lemon drop on his desk. "We'll discuss this later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shorter chapter, but it seemed like a good place to end things.


	10. Chapter 10

Everyone else is studying or watching a game of Wizard Chess between two fifth years. Harrison has already completed most of their homework, and Harry has no interest in Wizard Chess. He's sitting on the rug near the fire and trying to convince himself not to retreat upstairs. Every so often, one of his classmates will shoot him a look before quickly going back to what they were doing before. No one brings up yesterday, and Harry is glad. He notices that the other Quidditch players, when he sees them, won't meet his eyes. They don't seem angry at him anymore, though, and for that, he's glad. He wonders if they believe the rumors flying around. Apparently, some of the children are convinced that Madam Pomfrey found some sort of bogus problem so that Dumbledore could take the opportunity to chew out Harry for being in Slytherin. Draco, in particular, is unafraid to vocally claim that Dumbledore called Harry a disgrace to the Potter name. Harry didn't miss that some of the responses hoped that was true; it turns out that the pure bloods aren't fond of the Potters.

Harry doesn't plan on correcting anyone. Until someone asks him point blank what happened, he will say nothing, and if they do ask, he'll probably lie. He doesn't need to explain himself to any of these people. Really, who would even believe it? Who would believe that the boy who defeated Voldemort was destroyed by his muggle relatives? Who would believe that the Boy Who Lived couldn't survive the muggle world without his mind shattering? Harry doubts that wizards would even understand Multiple Personality Disorder. They're far behind regular people when it comes to technology, and it's not like even most normal people have heard of it to begin with. Harry would never have known about it, either, if Harrison hadn't found a book on it when he was spending yet another lunch in the library.

Harry can still remember the doubt he felt upon reading about the disorder. It was apparently hotly debated with psychologists, something that no one could seem to agree on. The main problem was that some people thought that therapists were just encouraging false memories of abuse so that they could make more money off of their distraught patients. Harry, who had never been in therapy, found that incredibly silly. He'd still been worried. While he knew well that he was being abused, the abuse was the only thing he forgot. He didn't lose time, not really. That had torn him up for years, much as it annoyed his other alters. And now, Dumbledore was saying the same thing. Harry didn't lose time, so it wasn't  _real_ MPD, was it?

 _Stop being so stupid,_ Potter mutters.  _What else could it be? Do you think you're possessed by something?_ His voice turns mocking.  _You better not tell me we're the Dark Lord back to haunt you._

Despite himself, Harry laughs. A second year girl shoots him a look, and he smiles apologetically. The nagging idea doesn't leave his head, though, and Potter leaves in frustration. Harry gets up to return to his room when he notices that Draco has drifted away from the crowd. "Potter," he nods, and Harry nods in return. Draco follows him up to his room, and Harry wonders what he wants. He's not going to ask about last night, is he?

No. Draco strikes up a conversation about Quidditch, and when Harry doesn't react negatively, seems content to tell Harry all about his favorite teams. Harry contents himself with listening and soaking in the information. He feels Snake move up behind him and mentally steps back. To his surprise, after Snake adjusts to the situation, he actually begins contributing to the conversation. Harry watches as the two Slytherins grow more comfortable talking and the subject grows beyond just Quidditch teams. Unexpectedly, Harry feels a stab of jealousy.

 _Why can't I do that with anyone? Why is there nothing that I can do better than my alters? Why am I even here, if they're so much better than me at everything?_ Snake doesn't seem inclined to reply, for which Harry is thankful. Potter would be inclined to put up a fight, and who knows how James would react. None of his alters would be happy about the idea of him leaving. Of course they wouldn't; they're his alters. Aren't they?

Cores aren't supposed to be host. That's what all the books on MPD said. Cores are hidden in the back of the mind, and the system always obeys them. Who's to say that Harry isn't just a hollow replacement, just a conduit for the other alters to act through? The books said that people with MPD are supposed to black out, though. So he's not doing MPD right either way. A freak, even compared to others with the same problem.

"Are you alright?" Draco asks. He's not talking to Harry, of course. Snake had frozen up mid-speech. He's fine now, and the two are chatting again, but shame blankets Harry. There he goes again, screwing up his alters' lives. Some host he is.

Snake and Draco set off for dinner, still talking.

"Oh, Pansy!" Draco breaks off mid speech, "I need to talk to her for a moment." Draco dashes off, and Snake stares after him. Then he snorts and continues on to dinner by himself. He's not paying attention to where he's going. Before he can walk right into a suit of armor, someone grabs his arm.

"Distracted, I see?" Dumbledore asks with a smile. Snake jerks his arm back and glares. Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. "I assume you're not Harry?" He whispers.

"What the hell are you blabbering about?" Snake sputters, face turning a bit purple. "Of course I'm Harry!" Honest confusion leaks to Harry, and Harry feels his stomach drop. Snake doesn't remember them…?

Dumbledore seems just as off put by the situation. "I see." His eyebrows draw together and he tries not to stare. "May I see you in my office, Harry?"

"I'm going to eat dinner," Snake refuses. Now Dumbledore is definitely caught off guard. Harry can feel his gaze on their back as they walk to the Great Hall. When Dumbledore enters a few minutes later, he won't stop glancing at them. Snake is sitting with Draco and Pansy, the three of them griping about McGonagall's obvious preference for Gryffindor's. A couple of upper classmen join in with their own stories, and though no one comments on it, Harry can tell that they're surprised that he's involved. But it isn't him, and he's once again rendered a bystander in his own life.

Dinner ends, and Snake is still the one fronting. Potter joins Harry as he always does in the evenings, but Snake acknowledges neither of them.  _What did you do?_ Potter asks, and Harry can only shake his head.

 _I think Dumbledore wants to see us again,_ he says quietly.

Potter's face screws up in anger.  _Interfering bastard._ They watch as Snake gets ready for bed without a touch of fear or the usual panicked rituals.  _Should we tell him about us?_

Harry shakes his head. Why not allow a part of themselves to be normal? It doesn't seem to be hurting Snake any. They can handle Dumbledore tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

_You did what?_ James snickers.

 _I don't see how it's funny,_ Potter remarks.  _How are we supposed to deal with Snake blacking out? We've never had to worry about anything like that before._

_Are you kidding me? That's gold. I get Harry creating alters to take abuse or help with school, and I even get him making a Slytherin alter so he can blend in; he doesn't possess Gryffindor bravery, after all. But making said Slytherin alter black out just so he can please the first adult who happened to learn about us? Beautiful._

At least it's put James in a good mood. Even though he won't get to practice Quidditch again until Wednesday, he's fronting just so he can talk to Harry and Potter, something he wouldn't have done before they came to Hogwarts. It's good for him to be here. He even managed to calm down Jay this morning, and she was almost polite during Potions. At least, she didn't glare at anyone or mock any failing potions. She just did her job and left. Admittedly, she took more pride than necessary when Snape accused her of somehow cheating in order to always have working potions, but she is Jay. They're just lucky she hasn't tried to use her potions to poison anyone, yet.

 _So,_ James drawls,  _doesn't Dumbledore want to see us?_

_If he does, he'll have to come get us himself. We can just pretend we didn't know that he asked Snake for help, and he can assume Snake doesn't communicate with the rest of us._

_Of course, your first idea is to lie your way out of trouble_ James sighs dramatically.  _Tsk tsk, Potter. Really, I don't see why you have such a problem with the man. Shouldn't we accept him as an ally? Maybe he can help us find somewhere else to stay over the summers. Or maybe he can teach us how to make the pig tail permanent._

 _And you're calling me the evil one!_ Potter shakes his head. He checks quickly to make sure no one can see him mouthing a conversation to himself, but this is the History of Magic class. As per usual, everyone is asleep. It's a review day, anyway. That's why not even the Ravenclaws are bothering to try and also why Harrison hasn't been pulled to front. Too much effort.

 _I still want to talk to Dumbledore,_ James insists.

 _I'm sure you do,_ Potter grumbles,  _he likes you. You're his precious Gryffindor alter! … Look, before you do anything, you should get Harry's permission._ Both alters turn silent as they turn to look at Harry. Harry pretends that he can't hear them. Potter visibly deflates.  _Do what you want,_ he mutters. For a moment, James seems to doubt himself, but then he nods.

_After Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'll see him._

Dumbledore doesn't seem surprised when James walks into his office, but then, he is a wizard. He nods at James and greets him with, "Hello…?

"James," James nods back, taking a seat. Dumbledore's smile widens.

"Ah yes. It's very nice to see you again, James. Do you control Harry often, then?"

James smirks, though Potter pretends to gag. "I suppose you could say that. I'm a much better Quidditch player than he is, so he's not getting rid of me any time soon. Not now that I've landed us a spot on the team." When Dumbledore praises his accomplishment, James doesn't bother pretending to be modest about it. Potter storms off somewhere, muttering about not wanting to watch this Gryffindor love fest, but Harry doesn't mind it. It's not often that James can be acknowledged for his achievements, after all. He deserves the reward and has every right to be smug, really.

"What jobs do the alters have?" Dumbledore asks. James shrugs and leans back so that the chair is balancing on two legs.

"Well, depends on the alter, obviously. Harry and Potter have hosting duty- basically, you talk to us, you're probably talking to them. Harrison is the nerd. Lily's the magical one; she's great at it. Jay's my sister. She likes Potions, and she hates Slytherins." James pauses for a moment and smirks. Dumbledore looks more pleased by this than he should. "Snake's the one you ran into before. Yesterday, I mean. Not when you first found out- that was Bruises, he takes physical- anyway. Snake, apparently, he's pure Slytherin. Pure git, if you ask me."

"That's a lot of alters! Is it difficult for you, to lose control to them?"

"Well, I am an alter, so I'm probably a bit biased. By I don't mind it, usually. None of us can remember what life was like before we split- er, created alters- so." James shrugs again and lets the chair fall back onto the floor with a resounding thud.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore breathes, seemingly unaware aware that James can hear this comment. He raises his voice and says, "Are there any alters that you don't get along with? You are most certainly a brilliant young Gryffindor, and I can't imagine that you and Snake get along well."

"No, we don't. But I suppose he doesn't know that, now does he? Other than him, I don't really mind anyone. They all serve their purpose, right?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you all get along. And none of them are particularly un-Gryffindor then? None of them… well, I do hope you'll excuse me here, but I know that abuse can change a person. None of your alters are violent?"

"Oh, so that's what you're getting at? Well, the protectors do whatever they view as necessary, but they only come out when Harry really needs them. No future Dark Lords here, if that's what you mean."

Dumbledore laughs. "Oh dear. I'm getting transparent in my old age. Yes, alright. Thank you, James, for being so honest with me. I do hope you don't think I'm needlessly prying. You know, it worries me immensely that one of my students was so hurt. I want to help you to remain safe in the future." Dumbledore's forehead creases, and his eyes suggest sincere worry.

"Don't worry about it," James grins, "We can handle ourselves."

"So I see!" The man shakes his head and changes the topic. "Well, James, how are you liking school here? Are you managing to make friends? It must be hard to meet decent people when everyone thinks that you're a Slytherin."

James scowls. "We were almost friends with Ron Weasley, but he doesn't seem so fond of us at the moment."

"Such a shame," Dumbledore says mournfully, "Ronald seems like a fine young man. His family is wonderful, I'm sure that you would find them the best of support. Perhaps you should try to reach out to him regardless of your House placement? I'm sure that once he sees that you, at least, are of a decent sort, he will gladly befriend you."

"Maybe," James nods, and Harry feels the hope that James is trying to ignore. Again, Harry is struck by guilt. Why doesn't he let his alters have their own friends? He keeps so much from them just by existence.

 _Harry, shut up,_ James says bluntly. To Dumbledore, he just looks pointedly at the clock. The man laughs.

"I'll let you get back to your studying now. If you ever want to humor an old man, please feel free to visit."

"Maybe," James allows.

"I suppose you'd prefer Weasley," Dumbledore sighs. James just snorts derisively. When he leaves, after a moment of hesitation, he veers towards the Gryffindor common room.


	12. Chapter 12

It's not until that Wednesday that James has an opportunity to talk to Ron. He hasn't dared to approach him during meals, and Charms and Potions classes are too segregated. Even with the Gryffindors viewing him in a more positive light, Harry isn't part of their clique, and James never had the chance to talk to Ron alone. Now, though, first year Gryffindors and Slytherins alike again troop down to the Quidditch field for flying lessons. It makes for nice closure, as Quidditch is really what brought them together in the first place, and it's not like James needs to pay attention to the lessons.

When James first tries to talk to Ron, the Gryffindor's eyes flash up to Draco, wondering if Harry was put up to this. His responses are clipped and weary, and his posture is rigid. Everyone is watching them curiously, and he knows it. James tries not to let on that he knows that Ron thinks this is a trick of some sort. It's grating on him to be friendly to someone so openly hostile, though, and his temper begins to frazzle.

Ron searches for ways to escape the conversation. He's concentrating on the broom, now, and James realizes that despite growing up in a wizarding family, Ron really isn't used to flying yet. His grip is wrong, and James doesn't hesitate to tell him this.

"Thanks," Ron says, pulling back slightly. He readjusts his finger positions, though.

"Oh for- Ron, you're acting like I'm going to curse you first chance I get," James gripes.

"You're a Slytherin," Ron says, as if James doesn't already know this. "I think that I have every right to be worried."

For a moment, James just stands there. Then he glances around, a devious smile crossing his face. "There's really nothing to worry about, but I can't explain it here. Can you meet me in private tonight? You can pick the location, just promise to show up." Conflicting emotions play across Ron's face. It's obvious that, despite himself, he wants to know Harry Potter's secret.

"Fine," he finally says, "We'll meet in the trophy room, since we know that it will be unlocked. Midnight, alright?" James nods, and they shake on it. Then James leaves Ron alone. The boy really does need to pay more attention to flying technique.

XXXXX

Potter is about to burst. Ron is late, and what gives James the right to pull stunts like this, anyway? Can he think of no one but himself? This doesn't just affect them; it can lose Slytherin points.

 _And I'm supposed to care why?... Really Potter, you should have seen that coming._  The alters glare at each other before Potter hears footsteps. Ignoring James's protests, he crouches down behind one of the trophy cases. A moment later, three people stumble into the room.

"I told you!" Potter hears Granger insist, "Ron, he's just trying to get you in trouble!"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" James says. Granger jumps a bit at his reveal and makes a "hmph" noise before turning away. James eyes her and Longbottom. "Ron, thank you for coming, but I think you need a refresher on what the word private means."

"I know what private means! Hermione tried to stop me from sneaking out, and we found Neville locked out of the dorms. The Fat Lady has wandered off and we couldn't get back inside."

"Oh, that does suck. Still doesn't change the fact that I wanted to see you in private." James shakes his head and thinks.

"Use the room next door." Everyone looks at Harry, surprised by the sudden deepening of his voice. Potter ignores them. The door is locked, but that was to be expected. "Alohomora," he whispers. He hears a soft "oh!" of surprise from Hermione, but he doesn't explain himself. He can't tell her that they needed to learn a way out of locked cupboards, after all.

"Ron," he gestures. Ron enters the room, his nerves returning. Potter reluctantly lets James back out, and he follows Ron and shuts the door behind him. Potter casts a quick silencing charm, but Ron doesn't notice. James pushes Potter out of the way.

"So, here's the thing," he begins, "you're probably wondering how Harry Potter ended up in Slytherin. Well, here's the thing. I didn't, not really." He pauses as if to let this sink in. Ron looks like a fish out of water, but he's not the only one gaping.

 _What the f-cking hell do you think you're doing?!_ Potter explodes.

"Dumbledore wanted me to keep an eye on the Slytherins," James explains to Ron. "He wanted me promoting house unity, too. I don't really like it. I feel like I'm betraying my parents, you know? But I know that I'm not. If I befriend Slytherins, I can help bring them to the light. I can save them and prevent another Dark Lord from ever gaining power. They would never listen to me if I'm from another house. But now the other houses won't listen to me, so…"

For a moment, Ron is silent. When he speaks again, his voice is bursting with admiration. "That's bloody brilliant! That must be awful though, being forced to live with a bunch of snakes."

"They do tend to shed a lot," Potter mutters. He's going to strangle James!

Louder, James replies, "it really is! They're all so smug all the time. Well, the pure bloods are, at least. Draco's the worst of the lot, him and his dumb mooks. He's my dorm mate, of all people."

Ron sucks in a breath. "You haven't strangled him yet?"

"Didn't we just go over this? I'm not really a Slytherin!" Ron has to muffle his snorts, and they exit the room grinning. Hermione glares at them, but Neville looks like he's going to have a nervous breakdown.

"Do you hear that?" he asks anxiously. Potter draws closer to front.

"Filch," he hisses. He gestures to the others, and they all scurry through the second doorway and away from the voice. They creep down an armor filled hallway. Potter strains his ears and hears footsteps behind him. Filch has no reason to know that anyone is around, though, so they should be fine.

Neville panics and tries to run. He trips and knocks down a suit of armor, resulting in enough clanging and crashing to wake the whole castle. Potter curses himself even as he sprints ahead, not checking to see if the others can keep up. The panic converts into speed as Freakazoid joins him. They shoot through corridor after corridor, finally ducking past a tapestry into a small passageway. Near the opposite exit is the Charms classroom. It's far enough away from the trophy room that Potter relaxes and finally remembers the others. With baited breath, he creeps back to the edge of the passage. When Ron and Hermione dart past, he stops them and shows them through. Neville takes another minute to show up, and then the entire group sets about reaching their dorm rooms again.

Of course, not a minute passes before Peeves catches site of them and yells for Filch. Cursing under his breath, Potter runs to the end of the corridor, barely avoiding slamming into a door. "Alohomora!" he whispers and ducks inside. The others follow him through, and they shut the door behind them. To their relief, when Filch enters the hallway seconds later, Peeves will reveal nothing, and Filch storms off in a huff. Potter takes a deep breath of relief.

" _What_ , Neville?" Potter hears Ron groan. Turning towards the pair reveals the source of Neville's fear: a massive three headed dog. Soft growls built up in its throat; they caught it by surprise, but it's catching on fast. Freakazoid slams into the body before Potter can finish processing the situation, and he opens the door and pulls Ron through by the back of his shirt. The moment that he notices Hermione and Neville out, he shuts the door. Magic flows through him, locking it tightly, but he's never been one to take chances.

"What are you doing?" he barks to the still shocked children, "Get back to bed!" Hermione doesn't need a second reminder. She darts off towards the Gryffindor dorm, and the other two quickly follow her. Freakazoid stays a moment longer to make sure that door is holding. When he's positive that they haven't just released a monster on the school, he walks briskly back to the Slytherin dorms and slips into bed before slipping from consciousness.

 _I will kill you,_ are the first words out of Potter's mouth.  _James, you are a dead man!_

 _Excuse me?_  James has the gall to act insulted.  _All I did was make a new friend! I found out what was in the Forbidden Corridor, too, so props to me._

_You could have gotten us killed, you-!_

_It was on a trapdoor._ Potter falls silent and looks at Harry. Harry repeats himself and adds,  _I bet it was guarding the package Hagrid got. Hogwarts is the only place safer than Gringots, remember?_

 _See? Harry doesn't care,_ James brags.

 _He should care, considering we could have died._  When Harry fails to react, Potter tries to hide his worry.  _What about the other students whose lives we risked?_

 _We didn't do it on purpose… Wipe that smirk off your face James- yes, you are smirking. It was still a stupid idea._ Harry sighs.  _Whatever. Let's just go to bed._

Silence descends on the alters.

_I'm still going to kill him._


	13. Chapter 13

School falls into a familiar haze. James and Ron take to sitting with each other at the Gryffindor table once or twice a week, much as it angers the Slytherins. Snake strives to keep up their reputation in his house, unaware of why everyone is frustrated in the first place. Jay is infinitely less snarky now that the Gryffindors accept her, and Potions is a breeze. Likewise, with Lily's help, Charms and Transfiguration come effortlessly, and Harrison manages to keep with the curve in History of Magic. Potter barely has to worry. Harry isn't needed.

Before he knows it, October is ending. It's All Hallow's Eve, and no one can sit still throughout the day. Harry is confused by their excitement. He had gotten the impression that Halloween was about going door to door and getting candy, but he doubts that the teachers are going to hand out candy. Have the books left out something?

At dinner time, there's another great feast. Harry has to admit that, if nothing else, the great hall is decorated spectacularly. He especially likes the jack-o-lanterns, but the whole room has an appropriately spooky atmosphere. The ghosts are joining the students in their celebration, and spirits are high. He's sitting at the Slytherin table because he figured that tonight, at least, he should be with his own house, but James and Ron agreed to meet at the end of the Hufflepuff table to chat when they finish eating. The food is good, too. Harry had never had good food before he came to Hogwarts, and though part of him (usually literally a part named Petal, but not always) warns him against getting used to eating this much, tonight he lets himself relax and enjoy it.

Draco has just convinced Harry to try some fancy sort of dessert when their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell, comes barreling through the doors with a pasty white face indicating terror. Potter and Freakazoid edge closer to hear what he's blabbering about: "Troll—in the dungeons—thought you might want to know." Freakazoid's halfway to the door before the crowd erupts into panic. Dumbledore instructs everyone to remain calm and return to their dorm rooms, but hysteria is slowly spreading. Trolls must be rather horrible.

 _Wait!_ James hisses. Freakazoid ignores him and blocks James's attempt to take the body.  _WAIT!_ James yells.  _Harry, we have to stop!_

 _Are you out of your mind?_ Potter turns on him.  _I know that Gryffindors are stupid in their bravery, but we can't do anything about a troll?_

_Can we do anything about a girl currently crying alone in the bathroom and not aware that she needs to get to safety?_

Seeing Potter's blank face, Harry explains _, he and Ron were insulting Hermione during Charms today because she mastered all the spells so quickly. Calling her a friendless loser, that sort of thing. Well, it was mainly Ron doing it, but we didn't do much to stop it, and she ran off in tears. I guess James noticed that she wasn't at dinner?_

James has the decency to respond to Potter's scathing glare with a sheepish look. Recovering quickly, he insists,  _we need to go help her. Look! There's Ron. He can help._ Before Potter can protest, James snakes his way through the crowd and grabs his friend's arm. "Ron! Hermione's off crying in the bathroom's, right? That's what Parvati said. She won't know about the troll." The hesitation on Ron's face makes James uneasy. "We can't just leave her there."

"Oh, fine," Ron snaps. James sighs in relief, though Ron's reluctant answer doesn't soothe Potter's agitation. The two boys duck away from the other students and sneak into a side corridor. Footsteps sound behind them, and Ron turns pale. "Percy!" he hisses, pulling James behind a large stone griffin. However, it's Snape, not Percy, who briskly walks through and disappears around a corner. "Why isn't he in the basement with the other teachers?" Ron asks, baffled. James shrugs.

"Listen to that," Freakazoid interjects. "Footsteps! Must be some big feet."

Big feet indeed! The troll emerges from an adjacent hall, and Harry realizes why everyone was so frightened. It's a horrifying sight. More than twice his height, the troll is thick and lumpy. Its long arms trail a wooden club, and the stench that follows it makes Harry gag. It doesn't notice them, and Harry remembers reading that trolls are stupid. It enters a room with the key still in the lock. It crosses Harry's mind that they could just lock it inside and be done with the thing.

"That's the girl's bathroom." Freakazoid's voice is grim. Without waiting for Ron, he abandons their hiding spot and enters the bathroom. Cursing under his breath, Ron follows. The boys are met with quite a sight. The troll is approaching Hermione, who's currently pressed up against a wall and looks ready to faint. "Distract it!" Freakazoid demands. Without thinking, he grabs a faucet that was torn from the wall and flings at the troll with as much force as he can muster. The troll doesn't seem hurt, but it does pause and turn in his direction. After a moment's hesitation, it comes to club him to death, instead.

"Oy, pea brain!" Ron hollers from across the chamber. He throws a metal pipe at the troll's shoulder. Again, the impact causes no damage, but the troll dutifully turns and advances towards Ron.

"Run!" Freakazoid yells to Hermione, but she's petrified with fear. The troll turns to Freakazoid with a glower on its snout. The noise seems to be driving it insane, and it charges. Freakazoid, acting purely on instinct, charges back, screaming as he does.

James is screaming, as well.  _Lily! Lily Lily Lily Lily get out here we need you_ _ **Lily**_ _!_ The troll is upon them. Lily stares up in terror. She blurts the first thing that enters her mind, the same spell they had been taught that morning. "Wingardium Levoisa!" Magic explodes out of her in a quick burst. Likely, she was aiming for the troll's club, but the entire troll smashes up against the ceiling. The girl squeaks in panic, and the troll crashes back down onto the floor. Freakazoid takes no chances.

"Wingardium Levoisa," he repeats. Nothing happens. Dazed, Lily joins him, and the club lifts above the troll's head.  _Just drop it,_ Freakazoid tells her, and she obeys. If the troll wasn't out cold before, he is now.

"Is it—dead?" Hermione breathes. Freakazoid shakes his head and lifts a finger to his lips. A door slams, and Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell enter the room. Quirrell, upon seeing the troll, sits on a toilet and clutches his heart, but McGonagall and Snape have fury all over their faces. While Snape is too busy checking the troll to give lectures, McGonagall is less preoccupied.

"What on earth were you thinking of? You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitories?" Her eyes rest on Harry, and there's murder in them. Snape is staring at him, as well, and he wants to sink into the floor.

Defiantly, Freakazoid raises his chin and meets their eyes in turn. Before he can say anything unfortunate, a voice pipes up from the shadows. "Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione manages to struggle to her feet. "I was using the restroom when the troll came. I didn't even know one was loose. I thought that maybe I could deal with it on my own because I've read so much about them, but I couldn't. I guess they noticed me gone or heard the screaming, somehow. They saved my life. It was about to kill me, before they came in..." Her voice trails off, and she sinks back to the floor as the situation again overwhelms her.

"Well—in that case…" Professor McGonagall stares at the three of them, not knowing what to say. Her eyes again fall on Harry. "Potter, why did you notice Granger's absence?"

"I didn't," Potter quickly fibs, "but I did notice Ron leaving the group to help her, and I couldn't leave the two of them to get hurt."

"Twenty points from Slytherin for not getting an adult," McGonagall proclaims. "Return to your dorms at once." She sweeps out of the room, expecting to be followed. Shocked, the three teenagers trail after her, both Ron and Hermione sending Potter pitying looks. Before Potter closes the door behind him, he glances back at Snape's stiff form. Their eyes meet. The look is revealing. Snape turns away, but Potter has learned a valuable lesson.

This is what it means to be a Slytherin.


	14. Chapter 14

"Harry?" Draco, who had been previously talking to Potter, pauses mid speech and glares up at the intruder. Potter smiles at Hermione, who smiles nervously back. She gestures towards the seat next to Potter. "Can I sit here?"

"This the Slytherin table!" Draco protests.

"Yes, I noticed." Hermione rolls her eyes and looks hopefully at Potter.

"Is that allowed?"

Hermione shrugs. "They never said that it wasn't. Besides, I've seen the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws intermingling before."

"That's why they aren't Slytherin," Draco mutters, but Hermione has already sat down. She carefully places her books where they won't get food on them before preparing herself breakfast.

"Why aren't you with Ron?" Potter asks. "He was there, as well."

Hermione goes still for a moment before shrugging. "He's still a twat," she informs him, "though less so now. Besides, I wanted to see you."

"We could start meeting in the library," Potter tells her, shooting a weary glance at the other Slytherins. None of them look very happy with his unexpected guest. Thankfully, Hermione seems to love his suggestion. They chat a bit longer before Hermione excuses herself so that she can get to Charms early. Potter watches her go before he turns back to Draco. He's not surprised to be met with a glare.

"What was that all about?" Draco whines. Potter shrugs, not in the mood, and continues to eat.

XXXXX

Their last class before the day ends is Transfiguration, so it's Lily who finds herself wandering the library in a search for Hermione. She finds the witch tucked into a corner, pouring furiously over a book. Lily is reminded of Harrison, though Hermione seems more sociable. She may be a bit awkward, true, but she's not visibly Autistic, which is always a point in her favor. Harrison has the bad habit of walking off in the middle of a conversation, and Lily doesn't know what she would do if Hermione did that to her.

"Hermione?" Lily asks. Hermione starts, knocking a pile of books from the table to the floor. Lily winces at the crash and has to dig her nails into her palm to prevent herself from levitating the books back up into a stack. Instead, she kneels down on the floor and helps Hermione pick them up by hand. Hermione thanks her, and the two girls sit down together. Lily tries her best not to fidget as Hermione book marks her book and sets it aside. She hopes that her pose is masculine enough.

"Is Ron treating you better?" Lily cautiously asks. Hermione makes an exasperated sigh.

"I suppose," she says glumly. "He hasn't been teasing me anymore, at least." She shakes her head impatiently, curls falling in front of her face. She brushes them behind her ear with a grimace. Lily watches in fascination, almost missing what Hermione says next. "How are the Slytherins treating you?"

"Oh." Lily's face turns red. She isn't quite sure. Inside, James shakes his head at her, but Potter is shrugging. "Well enough, I suppose."

Hermione eyes her critically. "Are you alright, Harry? You seem a bit—"

Heat floods Lily's face. She's sure that she looks like a tomato. "I'm just tired," she mutters. Maybe she shouldn't be the one to do this. Hermione doesn't look very convinced, but what else can Lily say? At this point, if she switches, won't Hermione notice the change? Why does she have to be so observant?

To Lily's relief, it's school work that Hermione begins discussing. Likely, Hermione doesn't know if they have anything else in common. That's fine with Lily. School isn't necessarily her thing, but she can keep up when magic is involved. Soon, the two are happily discussing spells.

After that, Lily and Hermione make an effort to make up once or twice a week. Ron often joins them, though he refuses to meet in the library. With both Common Rooms closed to at least one of them, they have to get a bit more creative with their locations. If they can't meet in the Great Hall for fear of unwanted attention, they may meet on the Quidditch grounds or in an empty classroom. As often as not, they just wander the halls together.

There's only one problem, but it's a rather pressing problem. The first time that Ron met with Lily and Hermione in the library, he had very quickly grown bored by the topic at hand. When Hermione had become annoyed with his impatience, he had responded by mocking her nerdiness. Both had expected Harry to back them up, and Lily quickly discovered that attempting to play peace maker wasn't going to work. Ron didn't understand how "Harry" could act so differently around Hermione, but he griped that if a crush was going to turn "Harry" into a wuss then maybe he should just let them be.

James had fronted for the next meeting with Ron. That time, it was Hermione who grew confused and irritated. Calling James out on his rude behavior had only won her an even ruder remark, and she left in a huff. Ron had found the whole thing hilarious, but Lily had been livid that James was scaring off her friend. Potter had tried to stand in as a neutral force, but he quickly bored of Ron and Hermione, neither of whom seemed fond of him.

Finally, it's Harry who finds himself stuck with trying to handle the two students. For the most part, it works. As long as Lily stays close to front, he can hold an intelligent conversation with Hermione, and James can quickly trade barbs with Ron. However, it's taxing for the three of them to switch so rapidly, and Harry often returns to his dorm with a terrible headache. Hermione still gets annoyed at the things that James carelessly says, and Ron frequently teases Harry for his "crush." Harry almost wonders if having friends is worth the hassle. He doesn't really like any of his classmates. He doesn't trust any of them, and he doesn't understand how they can be so light hearted about everything. In truth, he's almost jealous of how innocent they are, and the anger sends him reeling.

Because this is Harry's life, and nothing good ever stays good for long, Petal quickly angers at Harry's new social life. He doesn't deserve friends, she claims, and she settles on a suitable punishment. If he meets with his friends, he loses a meal for the day. Every additional comment outside of the meeting loses him additional foods. Somehow, Petal always knows exactly how many calories Harry is consuming, and she's very careful about giving him just enough to keep his appearance fine. Anything more than that, though, is increasingly hard for Harry to earn.

Harry doesn't care.

Life settles into a manageable pattern. Harry wakes up. Petal skips breakfast. Jay takes Potions. Harrison takes History of Magic. Potter or Snake eats lunch with Draco. Harry and Lily struggle through Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry, Lily, and James talk with Ron and Hermione. Snake eats dinner with Draco. Potter and Lily avoid Draco and do homework. Harry goes to sleep and hopes that the nightmares don't keep him up all night. The next day, the pattern repeats, save that the classes, and, by extent, the alters taking them, change. It's a complicated dance, but Harry doesn't mind. No matter how frequently or blatantly he switches, no one will notice. Harry is invisible, and it's just the way he likes it.


	15. Chapter 15

"Why are you always with those Gryffindors?" Draco demands, dropping his books onto the table in front of Potter. Potter pauses and wonders if it would be worth it to go up to his room under the claim of needing no distractions until he finishes the Potions Essay that's due tomorrow. His parchment betrays how long his essay has already grown, and he rarely talks to Draco after dinner. He decides not to risk it.

"I don't mind them," he shrugs. "They helped me to defeat the troll, so I decided they deserved at least a little respect."

"But they're  _Gryffindors._ " Draco couldn't sound more disgusted if he tried. Potter sighs and puts down his quill, turning slightly on the deep green couch so that he's facing the other boy.

"Yes, they are, though Hermione could easily be a Ravenclaw. She's incredibly smart, and I enjoy discussing things with her. She has a unique world view."

"And Weasley?"

Potter isn't sure how to answer. In truth, he's not as fond of Ron. It has nothing to do with the boy's social status- that would be laughably hypocritical- and everything to do with the boy's attitude. It may be that Potter can't relate to the not-yet-teenager when he himself has been fifteen for months. He can't afford the weakness of a young age, after all.

Draco takes the silence as confirmation that Potter shares his opinion of Weasley. "If you don't like him, why do you waste so much time on him? You have a whole house full of people who would be far better company!"

Potter's sure that Draco would just love to be able to tote them around as a pet, but he can't exactly say that out loud. Unease bubbles up within him, and he closes his eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling dizzy. It isn't until his head takes on an arrogant lift and his eyes open that he realizes why.

"Really, Draco," his voice drawls, "I would have thought you, of all people, would have figured it out by now. Which family is a known blood traitor with wonderful public relations with so called light wizards?" Draco's face takes on a pink tint, but Snake pretends not to notice. "The Weasleys, of course! And what family would the wizarding world want to see their boy hero on good terms with?"

"Brilliant," Draco whispers. His face flushes deeper, but he quickly composes himself. "So you're aiming for good publicity, then? You just want to fool the wizarding world into thinking that you're the perfect little Boy-Who-Lived?"

"I don't know how I got into Slytherin!" Snake mock whimpers, "I'm such a good kid! See? Even my Mudblood and blood traitor- whoops! Meant muggle and light wizard- friends agree!"

Now Draco is laughing. He pats Snake hard on the back, mirth breaking through his usual stoic act. "I knew I liked you a reason!" He proclaims. "Just wait until I tell Father about this. I told him that you were on our side."

Snake smirks and accepts the praise. Potter watches with baited breath. Snake can't hear the whispered words of Jay, who had been close to help with Potions homework.

_I will destroy you._

XXXXX

James returns from afternoon Quidditch practice and collapses onto the Slytherin couch with a grimace. His legs hurt, but he's not happy about his Common Room.  _I hate green,_ he grumbles, brushing a piece of green lint off of his cloak. After a moment's thought, and despite the chilling weather, he sheds the cloak in his room before going to meet Hermione and Ron. As he leaves, Draco shoots a smirk his way, and James just barely manages not to glare back.

They're down by the kitchen today. Hermione and Ron are already waiting for him, though they're maintaining a good distance from each other. James grins at Ron and shoots a nod in Hermione's direction. She groans in irritation, already seeing that today is going to be a Ron day. James ignores her. It's not his fault that Potter doesn't bother to front on weekends and that Harry never fronts without him.

"How was practice?"

"Pretty decent," James says as he positions himself next to Ron against the wall. "Flint went over our strategies today, and we got a good practice in."

"Do they cheat?"

"When do Slytherins not cheat?" James snorts. "Well, they don't cheat during practice, but all of their emergency game plans seem to involve smashing other players into the polls."

It's a slight exaggeration, but it's not like Ron will care. They both know that Slytherins don't have an honest bone in their body.

"I wonder if you could tell Wood" the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, James knows- "about the Slytherin plans."

"Oh, of all the-!" Hermione cries, pushing herself off the wall and whirling around to face the boys. James had almost forgotten that she was there. "Do you not see how hypocritical that is?" At Ron's blank look, she elaborates. "You're berating the Slytherins from cheating, but here you are, asking Harry to cheat for Gryffindor! And you!" She turns her attention to James. "How can you say such things about your own house?"

James realizes that she actually expects an answer. "Look," he gripes, "I have nothing against Slytherins, okay? Really. Ron's a Gryffindor, though, and you know how intense house rivalries are. I can't just sit here and brag about our Quidditch team. It just wouldn't be cool. I wasn't really going to tell him any of the plans. It was just a joke, really, Hermione. Besides, no harm, no foul. It's not like any of them are around to hear it." He's lying out of his ass, but she doesn't have to know that.

She doesn't seem inclined to believe him. Her arms are crossed across her chest, and her nose is pointed up in righteous indignation. If James didn't want to pacify her, he would laugh.

"I won't do it again, okay?" James allows his shoulders to fall forwards in defeat, and he glances in Ron's direction as if pleading with him.

"Yeah, 'Mione," Ron grumbles, "we were just having some fun."

"Well, it's not the kind of fun I want to have. I'm going to do my Herbology homework." Hermione says, storming away without a glance back. Ron pales, and James wonders if he's still relying on Hermione for homework help. Maybe he should offer to help him, later. Lily wouldn't mind helping out a friend, right?

For now, James has other things to worry about. "What a party killer."

Ron nods his agreement. "It's not like you were offering to blow the Slytherin games," he says. "We were just having fun! I don't know what got her panties in a twist." He glares in the direction Hermione left in. James laughs.

"Come on. We have better things to do, especially now that the little prude is gone."

Ron grins and follows James to the green house. Who will really care if they charm Ron's plant into growing just a little greener and taller than it had before? It isn't his fault that his partner keeps forgetting to water it.

XXXXX

The next evening, Lily refuses to help with their homework until James has completely disappeared from front. She seeks out Hermione and practically begs for her forgiveness. She avoids Draco like the plague and is as meticulous as possible in the Herbology homework, as if that will somehow make up for helping James to cheat. Potter, though no happier with Ron, thinks she's going overboard. Harry's just relieved that she isn't upsetting anyone else.

James and Jay won't shut up about Slytherin. They're smart enough to keep their trash talk away from their house mates, but even Draco's heard the rumors that Dumbledore only placed Harry in Slytherin to spy on them. They've all seen the glares leveled at them whenever they're in a mixed house setting. Not everyone blames them, to Harry's relief, but his presence seems to be causing the opposite of house unity. The Slytherins who tend to follow Draco around argue that the other houses are just trying to turn them against their house mate, and at least one hex has been thrown over the issue. It annoys James, Jay, Potter, and Snake to no end, though they all have their own unique take on the situation. Of course, they never shut up about it.

Everything that Harry has ever read on MPD advises that the host learn to love all of their alters, but now he wonders if an argument could be made for strangling them as a loving act.


	16. Chapter 16

"Potter!"

Potter turns around, but it's only Draco. He probably wants to talk to Snake. They have little homework that night, and Ron and Hermione are off doing who knows what, so Potter doesn't see why that shouldn't happen.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Snake asks, oblivious to the time that's passed since he was last aware. Draco shrugs in response, catching up and meeting Snake's pace.

"I'm so bored," he complains, "there's never anything fun to do around here!"

"That's not my problem!" Snake snorts. "Besides, there are plenty of cool things around Hogwarts. It's a school of magic, for God's sake! You just don't take advantage of the cool things."

"Like what?" Draco demands. Snake shrugs, but there's a gleeful malice on his face.

"I don't know. Like giant three headed dogs hidden in the forbidden corridor on the third floor, I suppose. Though maybe you're already used to such things?" Snake keeps walking, leaving a shocked Draco alone in the middle of the hallway. Draco's mouth is hanging open- it's very undignified- and Snake snickers to himself.

 _What the hell are you doing?!_ Potter demands, but of course Snake doesn't answer.  _How do you even know that?!_ Does Snake have more access to their memories than Potter had assumed? How is that possible? Potter turns to Harry to demand an explanation, but his host is already shaking his head.

_I have no idea. But we have to solve this mess before we can even think about questioning the cause._

With dread, Potter turns his attention to Snake. Draco has again caught up, but his sputtering isn't yet intelligible. Finally, Draco gulps down a breath and manages to cry, "how do you know that?! Are you trying to pull one on me, Potter?"

"Now why would I do that?" At Draco's look, Snake sighs dramatically. "No, Malfoy, I'm not bluffing. I found it after meeting Ron in private for the first time. I told you, Gryffindors are the strongest magnets for trouble that I've ever seen."

"That git knows about this, too?"

Snake relishes the hurt in Draco's voice. "Yeap. I believe Granger and Longbottom were there, as well. You probably shouldn't tell anyone, though. It's a secret." Snake winks. Draco huffs, but being let in on this secret seems to soothe him.

"I bet it's that oaf Hagrid's pet," Draco claims, trying to pretend it's not a big deal. Snake shoves him slightly to the side.

"As if. I bet it's there to eat Death Eaters, or something."

Draco shoves him back with more force than necessary, and Snake stumbles. He shoots Draco an annoyed glare, not noticing the fire in his friend's eyes.

XXXXX

Harry has no luck finding out what Snake does and doesn't know because the moment that they enter the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the alter disappears. James drifts up to take his place. In response to Harry's surprise, James explains,  _Lily's still upset._ Then he turns his attention to Quirrell, the DADA teacher, and will say nothing more until the lesson has started.

As per the instructions, James pairs up with a Hufflepuff. "Hey," he nods, but the boy refuses to meet his eyes. The Hufflepuff seems twitchy and nervous. He keeps darting glances at Quirrell, as if he's waiting for the teacher to notice and allow him to work with someone else. James is confused. He thought that the Hufflepuffs were alright with the occasional Slytherin.

"T-t-today-y," Quirrell stutters, "we w-will b-b-be practicing-g-g the Kn-n-nock Back j-jinx-x-x." The Hufflepuff goes stiff. His eyes widen to a comical degree, and he grips his wand with shaking fingers.

"Are you okay?" James whispers. The Hufflepuff swings his wand up and points it him, shaking harder.

"Don't talk to me," he stammers. James's smile freezes on his face. He knows that the student can't hit him with any spells- he's shaking too hard to aim, after all- and that even if he was hit, the spell would be too weak to do much of anything, but he doesn't understand why the student is acting like this. He knows that the Gryffindors aren't necessarily okay with him, but he didn't realize that he had a fearsome reputation among the Hufflepuffs.

He needs to do something, so he slowly nods. "I will have to perform the jinx on you like the Professor told us to," James warns, "but you can try it first, if you'd like."

Still pale, the boy nods. He copies the hand motions they were just taught, and manages to whimper, "Flipendo." Nothing happens. No matter how many times the boy tries, he can't get the spell to work. Around them, other students have only slightly better luck. At best, the recipient of the jinx is stumbling back a step or two.

"Switch?" Quirrell asks almost apologetically. James wonders how such a wimp ever managed to become their teacher in such a serious subject. He takes up the correct stance and stares his partner down.

"Flipendo," James says, purposefully dipping his wand too low. Relief shines on his partner's face when nothing happens. James tries another few times, always making the most minor of mistakes, before finally allowing the jinx to take small effect. He laughs a bit at the boy's terrified look, but even the Hufflepuff has to laugh at himself after he's picked himself up off the floor after falling onto his backside.

"I'm Harry, by the way," James lies after shaking his partner's hand.

The boy nods slowly and smiles back with slightly pink cheeks. "Justin. Justin Flinch-Fletchey. Even I know who you are, Harry. Everyone does."

Quirrell makes a timid "ahem" sound, and everyone strolls back to their seats.

 _Justin. He's a muggle born, isn't he?_ James frowns. Harry shrugs. He's never known the blood status of anyone, and he doesn't care to start learning now. One of his classmates could have unicorn blood for all that it affects him.

 _That would explain it,_ James continues.  _A muggle born wouldn't understand our past as well, so he'd be more inclined to believe the rumors that we're evil. Especially since some of those rumors are that we hate muggle borns, which is silly, considering that we've already befriended one._

 _You were nice enough to him,_ Harry muses,  _maybe he can tell others that we're not so bad._

 _Of course I was,_  James laughs.  _We're not all evil, Harry._ His grin is light hearted when he returns to listening to the lecture. He no longer believes that his others are the scum of the earth, even if he does despise everything that Snake stands for.

He misses the dark look in his host's eyes. When Harry slips away, James is too busy watching the proper way to cast the jinx to notice.

XXXXX

The week passes in a flash. It's their last class Friday, and Harry is exhausted. He never dreamed that teachers could assign so much homework is so short a period of time! Now he and Lily are in Herbology, and Harry is grateful that this is one of the classes that Slytherin shares with no one. He's tired of dealing with other people. His fellow Slytherins are too busy whining about being reduced to gardeners to bother him right now.

Lily is more dejected than usual, and Harry catches her eyeing Ron's plant. Though she tries to forget about it, she seems more anxious. She's as jumpy as she was back in primary school. When someone brushes shoulders with her, she apologizes so profusely that Harry has to take over to keep her from having a panic attack. He should probably just remain in front, but he doesn't know the first thing about gardening, though he supposes that he would be in decent company.

"How did you manage to kill it again?!" he hears Blaise frantically whisper to Nott. "Dang it, I can't keep exchanging the plants, Professor Sprout might notice!"

Lily drops her potted plant, but she manages to spell it to hover in her hands as if she only loosened her grip. Even Draco doesn't notice, but she didn't expect him to. Even if he's supposed to be their partner, he realized early on that she could handle it without him, and he's currently talking with Crabbe and Goyle. She doesn't care, as he probably would manage to kill their plant.

She stares at Blaise, torn. Harry notices her concern.  _I thought you didn't want to spell someone's plant back to health ever again?_

 _I don't,_ Lily answers, but she doesn't look away.

 _Right._ Harry laughs, but when it looks like she's going to turn away, he frowns.  _Well, go on, then._

 _It's cheating…_ she whispers.

_How? You're just helping them out. Sprout lets people receive help from their classmates. This isn't like with Ron, where you're helping out someone from a different house who didn't even ask for help so much as just assumed you would. This is offering assistance._

_Houses are silly,_ Lily laughs uneasily, but she slowly makes her way over to Blaise. Nott glares at her, but she doesn't mind. He's just sulking because she can see evidence of his failure in the form of their wilted plant.

"Do you need any help?" she asks lowly, shooting a glance in Sprout's direction.

"You think you can fix this?" Blaise gestures hopelessly to the plant. He looks surprised when Lily nods, but he hands it over dutifully. "Have at it."

After rechecking that Sprout is indeed preoccupied with yelling at Pansy for do her Charms homework instead of working, Lily releases a bit of magic into the plant. She's a bit worried that it's already dead, in which case there's nothing she can do, but after a few seconds, some color returns to the leaves. Blaise and Nott watch in amazement as it slowly perks up.

"I can't do much more for you," Lily whispers. It's true, though not because her magic has been exhausted. She doesn't want the changes to be too obvious because she doesn't want any of them to get into trouble. Blaise doesn't seem to mind.

"Wow, Potter," he whistles, "that's pretty good. How did you do that?"

Lily shrugs uneasily and stares at the floor, blushing. After a moment, Blaise changes the subject.

"You're playing in the Quidditch game tomorrow, right?" Lily nods, still looking down. She doesn't see Blaise grin.

"We'll be watching, okay? Make sure to win the game for us; we need to slaughter the Gryffindors and take the House Cup again!" Nott cheers beside him, which receives a glare from Sprout and a curious glance from Draco.

"I-" Lily doesn't know what to say, so she mutters, "I need to go back to work. Bye." She darts away, cheeks turning red. She doesn't see that Blaise's eyes follow her.


	17. Chapter 17

The crowds are cheering loudly, and James has never felt so alive. The wind whips through his hair, and excitement keeps his body feeling alert and slightly on edge as he scans the field below him for the flash of gold that will reveal the location of the golden snitch. He tries not to glance towards the top row where he knows that his Gryffindor friends are sitting. None of them are openly cheering for him- Gryffindors, in fact, prefer to cheer on any team but Slytherin even if that means sealing their own doom in the championship, and it's the Gryffindors the Slytherins are currently playing against-but James knows that Ron and Hermione still want him to do well. He hopes no one can see the silly grin stretching across his face.

For a moment, James tunes in to Lee Jordan's play by play commentary of the game. When he realizes that the comments are more akin to gossip, he shakes his head and resumes dedicating all of his attention to finding the snitch. Below him, the Gryffindor seeker flies about aimlessly. James wonders what their plan is. He was advised to stay away from the bulk of the game until he caught site of the snitch; otherwise, he was likely to be hit with a bludger, and James has no intention of that happening!

James is beginning to get restless when he glances a hint of gold zip past one of the chaser's ears. Squinting reveals that yes, that was the snitch, and he dives after it without a moment's hesitation. He wasn't the only one to see it, but racing for the prize only makes it more fun. Quidditch is meant to be a challenge, after all.

James lets out a loud whoop. He's pulling ahead of his opponent. He can almost taste victory! Around him, the rest of the game has paused as everyone waits with baited breath for their team to be announced victor. The game is too close; it's up to him to win this. He reaches out his hand—

He spins off to the side, broom no longer under his control. James can't hide his surprise. Did the Gryffindor seeker just try to block him from the snitch? No, it must have been an accident. Gryffindors don't cheat. The crowd seems to agree with him, as there's no discernible muttering about a foul, though the Slytherins, of course, are rather bitter that they didn't just win. James rolls his eyes and again gains altitude. In the chaos, the snitch had disappeared, and he's determined to lay his hands on it first.

The first time that the broom jerks beneath him, James barely notices it. The second time, James almost loses his grip. He tries to turn and call out to Flint, but the broom is rising. Higher and higher it goes, and nothing that James can do will stop its path. The jerking makes it difficult for James to hold on, especially when his head suddenly goes light. He doesn't fight it, though; he has no delusions that he can fix this without help.

Lily takes one look down and retreats into the headspace. The sudden vertigo makes James lean over, gasping. A memory of years before flashes into his head; they had been four, and they had been stuck on the roof. Below them, Dudley had laughed as his father taunted them, claiming that if any relative of his was going to be a freak and suddenly appear on roofs, they could stay up there until they fell and broke their necks!

James squeezes his eyes shut. Cold perspiration gathers on his forehead, but he doesn't move to shake it off. What does he do? Below him, the crowd seems to have finally caught on to his predicament. By now, the broom is rolling beneath James. Finally falling off, he hangs on with all his might. Freakazoid is with them now; it seems like the entire system is here, waiting to see what will happen. The broom is vibrating, and James squeezes his eyes desperately shut. Somehow, Potter and Freakazoid are keeping them from falling, but all it would take is a second for them to plummet to their doom.

"Potter!" a voice calls. James dares a glance to the side. It's one of the Weasley twins, with the other following close behind. Their faces are grim. "We'll try to catch you," one of them says, but when they come near, the broom jumps higher. The first twin curses, but repeated attempts yield the same result. Now Freakazoid is cursing, as well, and James is just willing himself not to cry.

"Well, we'll have to catch you if you fall, then," a twin hopelessly says. Both drop down and begin circling beneath him.

 _We could just let go,_ Freakazoid whispers, not even bothering to stop his lips from forming the words.  _If we just drop, they'll have an easier time catching us than if this damn broom flings us off._

 _No, I don't think so. The broom is obviously cursed. Who's to say what the caster can do to us if we're just helplessly falling through midair?_ Potter quickly looks down and then back up, blood draining from his face. Just as he's ready to give up hope and try Freakazoid's plan, there's a lull in the broom's madness, and he desperately clambers back on.

 _Go!_ Potter demands, and James doesn't need to be told twice. He shoots down like a bullet, heedless to the world around him. When he finds himself nearly choking, a small object lodged in his throat, he still takes the time to throw himself to the ground before he forces himself to cough it out. He examines it closely, and his mouth falls open in delight.

"I've got the snitch!" He waves it above his head, grinning like a fool, and the game ends in complete confusion.

XXXX

Ron and Hermione catch up with James after the game. It takes a while for them to get away; the Slytherins have no intention of releasing their star seeker into the hands of two dirty Gryffindors. Finally, James manages to slip away and join Ron and Hermione in the library. No one would think of trying to read right now, so they're safe here. Even James's head is quiet. The drama over, only Harry and Potter remain close to front, and Harry's only there because he can't help it.

Before James can even ask what happened, Hermione is spilling everything. "It was Snape! Oh, Harry, it was Snape. We saw him cursing you, Ron and I, he was mouthing something and he wasn't taking his eyes off of you, so I lit his robe on fire-"

"You lit his robe on fire?" Hermione pauses, shocked that James finds this more important than the identity of his attacker. She nods, but James doesn't see it. He swallows thickly, again blinking back tears. He's never had anyone fight for him before, not really. Now, twice in one day, people who don't even need to care about him- people from a different house, even!- have done something risky to protect him.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asks cautiously.

"Thank you," James says, smiling and hoping he doesn't look like a wuss.

"You're welcome," Hermione smiles, still confused.

"I helped too!" Ron butts in. James laughs.

"Yeah, sure you did." He elbows Ron in the ribs, and the two of them laugh.

"But really," Hermione frowns once they've calmed down, "Why would Snape attack his own student? I know you think he isn't fond of you, Harry, but we all know how much he likes his own students… no offence."

"That's exactly why he doesn't like Harry!" Ron drops an arm over James's shoulders. "He knows that Harry's really one of us, right mate?"

"That's hardly reason to attempt homicide!" Hermione insists, but Ron ignores her. James just shrugs. Potter, of course, sides with Hermione, and James ignores him, too. What does Potter know, anyway?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mature content in the form of sexual speech and violent flashbacks. Readers, be warned.

Snape's still limping, and it's beginning to bug Potter. Jay scoffs at his distraction, but Potter just can't let it go. He knows that the others think that Snape was the one who attacked them, but he doesn't believe that. Besides, he knows what it's like to have everyone ignore even the most severe of wounds, and it worries him that Snape isn't better yet. How many weeks has it been, now?

Jay slams Potter out of the body, yelling at him for his stupidity. Apparently, the potion hadn't seeped for long enough, and it would have exploded had he added the beetles already. Whatever. Potter lets his mind drift again, this time to the classroom around him. Jay sulks, complaining that with the Gryffindors on the other side of the room, there's nothing worth listening to. To spite her, Potter listens closer to Draco, who's currently occupying himself by chatting with Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Daphne Greengrass. Potter disapproves. Snape should have broken them up already.

 _Right, like he'll publically chastise his precious Slytherins,_ Jay sneers. After a pause, she adds in disgust,  _do they really need to talk about that in school?_

For once, Potter finds himself in agreement. It seems like Greengrass is bragging about her previous lovers. Considering that she can't be older than twelve, Potter doesn't see why she's proud of her sexual activity. Though Crabbe and Goyle seem impressed, Potter thinks that Draco and Pansy share his opinion. Pansy just barely manages to keep her voice to a whisper, but Potter's sure that she's mocking her classmate. Draco's snickering only strengthens this conviction.

Potter's not the only one who's noticed the drama. Across the room, a few Gryffindors elbow each other and point. The word "slut" can be heard above Snape's lecturing Neville, but Snape doesn't bat an eyelash. The children do, and laughter resounds. Daphne turns red.

"Oh shut up," she snarls, turning on one of the Gryffindor girls, "yeah, you would think I'm a slut. I bet you'll be a virgin until your Mudblood father sells you off to some muggle banker and you spend the rest of your life as a baby machine. That's what happened to the rest of your family, right?"

Potter has no idea how accurate that statement was, but the girl seems pretty mad. Of course, that could just be because she was called a Mudblood, but it wasn't a fair thing to say either way.

"What is wrong with you?" Ron demands, edging closer to the Gryffindor. Daphne rolls her eyes.

"Oh, look, the blood traitor's standing up for the Mudblood. How surprising. Yeah, I bet your mother would know all about being a slut. How many kids does she have again? You would think she would have stopped popping out rug rats after the first two put her into poverty, but maybe your father thought he'd get promoted by the time the fifth or sixth came along."

"Oh, that's original!" Jay laughs before Ron has the chance to make a scene. "Not." The room turns to her in surprise. Even Snape has paused his speech. Daphne glares daggers.

"If it isn't the Boy Who Lived! Should have known you weren't really one of us."

"One of you? Oh sweetie, I'm so honored that you know I'm not a whore. Really, I truly am."

 _You sound like a girl!_ Potter groans,  _goddamnit Jay, Harry would never talk like that!_

_Yes, because Harry would never bother to stand up for his fellow students. It's not my fault the rest of you are evil._

"I guess you don't need any love from fellow students," Daphne stutters, searching desperately for something to save face, "You must be pampered enough by your parents. Oh wait!"

"You fucking whore," Jay explodes, slamming her hands down on the table, laughing with wide, crazed eyes. "You little piece of shit, want to come say that again within punching range?"

"Mr. Potter," Snape drawls, finally looking up from the cauldron, "care to explain yourself?"

"Go fuck yourself," Jay shoots back. Snape's mouth drops open. The class collectively draws in and holds a breath.

"I will see you after class." His voice is clipped and low, as if in an effort to hide his fury. Jay scowls at him. She wants to respond, but Potter quickly pushes her back.

"Yes sir."

_What the hell were you thinking?!_

Jay just turns away.

XXXXX

Potter and Lily approach the dungeon together in silence. They're slightly early; they don't want to further anger Snape by showing up late. Potter is still seething over Jay's thoughtless actions, but Lily is more worried about Snape. They were horribly rude, after all, and Snape had no way of knowing why the comment hit so close to home.

Potter opens the heavy door but stops himself from stepping inside. Snape isn't alone; Filch is with him, and he's handing the professor bandages for his leg. Snape doesn't look very happy, and with a wound like that, Potter can't blame him. Not bothering to lower his voice, the Potions Master is griping: "Blasted thing. How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Potter tries to ease the door shut to give the professor his privacy, but a loud squeak betrays him. For a moment, Snape stares at Potter with eyes that hold as much horror as his own must. Then the man's expression turns dark.

"POTTER!" he screams, face turning purple with fury. He drops his robes quickly, hiding his leg. Potter stumbles back a step as his world goes fuzzy around the edges.

"GET OUT!  _OUT!"_  Harry feels his muscles tense. Snape looks as if he could murder him.

"S-sorry," Boy stutters, eyes wide.

"NOW!" Snape starts forward as if he wants to strangle them. Boy takes off, sprinting blindly, ducking into corridor after twisting corridor. Even the smallest of creaks convince him that they're being followed. His eyes are closed now, and images flash behind his eye lids. Again and again, the picture of Snape morphs. He grows shorter but larger, his eyes squinting and his fists balling tighter. The hair turns brown and balding, but while the face widens, the expression doesn't need to change. Again and again, the picture of Snape morphs into a memory of Vernon. Panic shoots through Boy, and he dives to the ground, covering his neck with his hands and curling into a ball. His small body is wracked with sobs, but he makes no noise. He knows better than to scream.

The internal screaming, however, refuses to stop. "Worthless freak!" Harry hears. "Good for nothing child! Why did I ever take you in? You better appreciate every scrap of food from the table, Boy. It's more than you deserve. Worthless creature, born of a worthless girl. My wife is too nice for her own good. Should have left the devil spawn of her freak sister to die in the cold."

"Sorry, sorry," Boy whimpers.

"Don't apologize to me! You lying bastard child. No, you're not sorry. Not yet. But I'll make you sorry. I'll make you sorry that you were ever born."

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, sorry that I was ever born, I was bad, bad Boy, bad Freak." Tears run down Boy's face, but the screaming doesn't slow. Harry can't shut it out. Hard as he tries, the words repeat again and again. He doesn't know how long they've been laying there. The stone is cold against his cramping back, but every time he tries to unlock their laced fingers and shift, Boy lets out a half scream and curls up tighter. Flashes dance around Harry's mind. It's not good when Vernon bothers to force them to stop protecting their head and neck. No, it's not good at all.

"Worthless boy… I'll make you sorry."

Harry already is.

XXXXX

The dorm room is empty. Harry doesn't know how late it is, but he's glad that he will be left alone. He's exhausted. He feels like he's about to faint, and it's an effort to open his eyes after every heavy blink. He digs his nails into his arm and clenches his teeth together. He can't fall asleep now. He won't be able to stand the nightmares he can feel waiting to slip into his defenseless mind.

 _That bloody git,_ James hisses. Harry manages to muster up a faint mimicry of surprise. Surely James can't be siding with them over the one hurting them?

_I never liked him! I knew that that bloody bastard was up to no good. You heard him, didn't you, Harry? He was trying to get past the three headed dog! He was trying to steal the treasure, I'd bet money on it. I bet he set that troll loose as a distraction so that he'd have an easier time getting at it. That bastard!_

Harry chuckles. Of course James is mad at Snape. The man is a Slytherin, after all. That makes him an acceptable target.

 _Don't be daft,_ Potter insists,  _maybe Snape was checking to make sure that the treasure was safe and secure. If Dumbledore's the one hiding it, of course he would have gotten the teachers involved. Maybe he was trying to ensure that the troll wasn't someone else's idea of a distraction._

_You blind fool! Are you really so determined to protect your damn Slytherin honor that you refuse to see what's right in front of you?_

Potter gives some sort of retort, but Harry isn't listening. With a sigh, he stands up and makes his way to his bed. Maybe he prefers the nightmares, after all.


	19. Chapter 19

That weekend, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all head down to see Hagrid. Apparently, the man wants to congratulate Harry on his Quidditch skills, and as Harry's "best friends," Ron and Hermione are along for the ride. The three of them troop down Hogwart's ground to Hagrid's small hut. They try not to gape at how large Hagrid looks in comparison to the small room. Potter frowns.

_Why doesn't Hogwarts provide more for him? Surely, with the size of the castle, they could make Hagrid a bit more comfortable._

_He seems fine with it as it is,_ Harry points out.  _He looks happy enough, at least. I guess he views his home as cozy?_

Potter shrugs and holds his breath to stop himself from sneezing. He doesn't like all the dust. James, on the other hand, couldn't be happier! He's still riding the high from winning, never mind that even the Slytherins have stopped mentioning the game whenever a Gryffindor is near. If Hagrid wants to celebrate his victory (and, likely, his survival as well), who is he to complain? Sure, the small shack's dirty, and he hasn't seen Hagrid since the giant of a wizard had first brought them to Hogwarts, but he's with his two best friends who are even only a little upset that he had won the match, and everything is fine.

"It was Snape," Ron is already explaining, cutting right to the chase, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing Harry's broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off him."

"Rubbish," says Hagrid, "Why would Snape do something like that?"

Potter's inclined to agree with him, but James refuses to see sense. "Snape's a bloody bastard. He tried to get past that three headed dog on Halloween, he wanted to steal whatever it was guarding. He got bitten, but that won't stop him from trying again."

 _What does that have to do with attempted murder?!_  Potter demands, but James ignores him. His attention is focused on Hagrid, who has just dropped his teacup.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" The man says.

"Fluffy?!" The horror in Ron's voice is almost its defining feature, but Hagrid manages not to notice.

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"To guard the what?" James prods.

"Now, don't ask me anymore. That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it!" James insists.

"Rubbish," Hagrid gruffly says, "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione cries. "I know a jinx when I see one Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid yells. "I don't know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"Nicolas Flamel?" James grins smugly. Hagrid looks furious with himself.

XXXXX

Before Harry knows it, it's Winter Break. That morning, everyone is chattering excitedly, discussing what presents they're hoping to get and confiding how glad they are to finally see their parents again. Even Draco is feeling the holiday spirit, even if that does just mean that he's bragging about the new broom he expects to receive. Harry's sitting next to Draco, but he's not really listening. He doesn't have holiday spirit. He doesn't even plan to go home. While everyone else is boarding the trains, he'll be alone in his room, hoping that the flashbacks won't be too bad.

Realizing that he's not remotely hungry- in fact, despite the vaguely empty feeling in his stomach, he feels that he'd be sick if he tried to so much as taste his breakfast- Harry sets down his plate and wanders out of the Great Hall. He doesn't want to go back to the Slytherin Common room; he'll be spending enough time there alone soon enough. He's just contemplating hiding in the library when he hears hurried footsteps behind him and feels a hand grip his shoulder.

"Harry!" Ron pants.

Silently thanking god that he didn't flinch in response to the touch, Harry pulls back a bit and tries to grin. "Hi Ron. What's up?

Ron looks like his face will split open if he smiles any wider. "Mum said I can stay at here for Christmas!"

Thud. Thud. Thud. Harry's hear beats painfully in his chest, and there's a strange rushing noise in his ears. He wonders if he would seem rude if he asked Ron to repeat himself or explain what he means. Ron can't be saying that he's staying behind just to stay with Harry, can he? This has to be a trick.

"We'll have to find somewhere else to open our presents in private," Ron continues, oblivious, "since we can't use the Common Rooms, and no way are we going to spend Christmas in the library! It's a shame that 'Mione won't be there with us, but I guess she got home sick. Plus, I guess her parents didn't want her to spend Christmas away from them, them being muggles and all, Hogwarts might not seem like a good option."

"Ron?" Ron pauses and somehow grins wider, waiting for Harry to continue. Not knowing what else to say, Harry shakes his head, staring at the ground. "Thank you."

XXXXX

Over the first week of break, Ron and "Harry" spend quite a bit of time together, though Harry himself is rarely present for it. Without even Hermione to interrupt them, Ron and James bond quite nicely. Ron teaches the system Wizard Chess, and though James can't make head nor tails of it, it wins Harrison over in a heartbeat. By the time that Christmas rolls around, the whole system is more relaxed than it can remember ever being. It hardly matters to them that the Dursleys are probably even more satisfied by the arrangement than they are; for once, they're happy.

Christmas night finds Ron and Harry (along with James and even Potter in the background, though Ron doesn't know that) curled up in the Gryffindor Common Room by the fire. Despite what Ron had thought, Hogwarts is so empty over the break that even the few remaining upper classmen don't seem to mind Harry's presence. The password will have changed by the next term, anyway, so it isn't like Harry can use his entrance against anyone. No, this is all about friendship and holiday spirit.

 _God, you're a sap,_ James bluffs as Harry tentatively fingers one of his wrapped gifts. Potter somehow refrains from pointing out how James was the one who could barely even leave front the night before because of pent up excitement.

 _No better than a four year old, really,_ he had said. Now, though, he's quiet, watching as his core sees what Mrs. Weasley sent him.

"Sorry," Ron laughs awkwardly, "Every year, she makes us a sweater." He unwraps his own and holds it up for Harry to see. "Mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," Harry says, examining the fudge that came with it. He breaks off a piece to enjoy, but he decides to save the rest as a treat for Hairy and Hansel. With the constant commotion of Hogwarts, they haven't been able to come out for a little while, which Harry feels rather bad about.

His next present is from Hermione, and it's also sweets: Chocolate Frogs, this time. After that, it's a wooden flute from Hagrid that must have been handmade (rather poorly made, as well, but the amount of time that must have been put into making it awes Harry). To Harry's shock, even his aunt and uncle have sent him something. Potter pokes it suspiciously, half expecting a small bomb. To avoid drawing attention to himself, though, he does need to open it, and he does so with a quick jerking motion. Out falls a small note.

 _We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._ Taped to the note is a fifty-pence piece.

" _Weird!"_ Ron exclaims. "What a shape! This is  _money?"_

Potter nods, distracted. "Uh, yeah. You can keep it, if you'd like." His head feels a bit funny, but he takes a deep breath and pushes the feeling away.

"So who sent this?" He gestures to the remaining parcel. When Ron can only shrug, he picks it up and unwraps it. Out falls some sort of silvery cloth. Potter's not very impressed, but Ron gasps in shock.

"I've heard of those," he says in a hushed voice, coin forgotten. "If that's what I think it is—they're really rare and  _really_ valuable."

"But what is it?" Potter picks up the cloth, marveling at the strange sensation. James runs it through his fingers and looks at Ron.

"It's an invisibility cloak. I'm sure it is—try it on."

With a shrug, James does as he's told, laughing at Ron's responding yelp.

"It  _is!_  Look down!"

After confirming that yes, he can no longer see his feet, James dashes to the mirror. He's met by a head that's bobbing in mid air and grinning like mad. He pulls the hood on, and his reflection disappears entirely.

"Wicked," he breathes.

"There's a note!" Ron says suddenly, "a note fell out of it!"

James pulls off the cloak and carefully folds it back up before seizing the fallen letter. The hand writing is unrecognizable, but the words catch his breath.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

There's no signature at the bottom. Even in this world of magic, staring at the note reveals nothing new. Though Ron is still admiring the cloak, James has fallen silent. Potter wonders who might have sent it to them, but even that doesn't inspire James to make a sarcastic comment.

Before Potter can flat out ask what the problem is, the twins come barging in, and Harry quickly hides the cloak back in its box. He doesn't want anyone else to see it, not yet. That night, though, he can't resist sneaking from his empty dorm and wandering the halls, hidden from prying eyes. It's not like he was going to get any sleep, anyway.

After a while, he decides to make use of his time and go to the Restricted Section of the library. He can read up on Nicholas Flamel and perhaps find something useful. Decided, he enters the library and steps over the rope that separates the forbidden books from the rest. When he examines the books, he realizes just why they're forbidden to begin with. The backs are all peeling, the titles spelled out in golden letters that Harry can't read. One book looks to be stained with blood. If Harry stops moving and holds his breath, he hears faint whispering around him. He knows that it must be a product of his mind, but—well, this is a school of magic. Who knows what's contained in these books.

Harry sets the lamp down carefully on the floor and looks closer. None of these look relevant to his search, but he can't know for sure. Finally, he decides to just pick one and try to make sense of it. It can't hurt. Normally, he would run his fingers along the spines until they came to rest on a particularly pleasing spot, as he used to at his old primary school library when he got the chance, but somehow, that seems like a bad idea. Instead, he picks up a large tome with a silver and black cover. He lifts it off the bottom row and places it gently by the lamp. After fingering the uneven edges of the papers inside, he cracks it open to a random page.

Immediately, the book emits a high pitched scream. Even when Harry drops the cover shut and jumps back in fear (knocking over the lamp and extinguishing its light in the process), the shrieking continues.

 _What did you do?!_ Potter demands, finally awake enough to pay attention to the world around him. As before, Freakazoid has taken over and has sprinted back to the doorway without so much as bothering to replace the book on the shelf. Hearing footsteps, he ducks into a corner, remaining still and near silent as Filch shuffles past him and shines a light around the room. With the aid of Harry's new cloak, he slips past the man and darts away on light feet. Also as before, he doesn't bother to check where he's going, and it's not until Harry finds themselves in front of an unrecognizable suit of armor that he realizes that they're lost. Somehow, impossibly, Filch has followed them, even if he doesn't seem to know who or where they are. Harry can hear him talking to Snape, and the voices are getting closer. They're looking for him.

 _Just take off the cloak,_ someone wails,  _you were bad, and now you deserve whatever punishment they decide to give you!_ Harry ignores them. When Snape and Filch round the corner, Freakazoid backs slowly away, carefully not to draw their attention with quick movements. There's an open door behind them, now, and they just barely squeeze through. Filch and Snape continue past, and Freakazoid finally releases a relieved breath and fades away.

 _Where are we, anyway?_ Potter muses. He turns the body and examines the room. It looks like an unused classroom, but in the center rests a large mirror.  _What on earth?_

 _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,_ Harry reads.  _What?_

Potter can only shrug in response. They edge closer, wondering what the mirror can do (it must be magic, after all, or why would it be hidden like this?). However, even after throwing around several suggestions, they're not prepared for what they see.

The figure at the front of the mirror looks just like Harry, if not a little older. There's his unkempt hair and sharp green eyes, his knobby knees and weary stance. Directly behind him, slightly to the left, is an older (though not by much) teenage boy. Like Harry, he has jet black hair and deep green eyes, but he's taller and more muscular. His stance is more confident, and he wears a light smirk. On Harry's other side is a slightly younger teenager. He has Harry's hair and similar looking glasses, and he's tall and thin. His scowl is slightly bitter, but his eyes are friendly. Beside him is an almost identical girl, but her glare is far harsher, and her bottom lip has duel piercings. Right before the image fades into the shadows, there's another girl, this one tall, blond, and so thin it looks like the wind could snap her in half. A younger girl with dark red hair kneels in front of her. She, too, has Harry's eyes, and she's smiling in a shy yet open manner. Two littles boys are beside her. The first has very long hair and a huge smile, and the older is just about exploding with energy. A gangly boy is posed next to them, sitting close to Harry's foot. Of all the figures, he appears the most awkward; he's thin as a rail (though not as thin as the girl), and his glasses are so thick that he seems blind as a bat. His face is smattered with freckles, and he seems a bit confused.

On the other side, behind the older teen, is yet another boy who looks like Harry. This one is dressed in Slytherin robes and scowling. Laughing gleefully beside him is a young woman with bright eyes. Her clothing, Harry can't help but notice, is very revealing. The next figure, a tall, genderless figure with a red Mohawk, manages to dress even more outrageously. It's in stark contrast to the blurred shadow behind him. By their feet are more children. The first seems little older than a toddler; his face is streamed with tears, and his gaze is pleading. The boy next to him is lined with dark bruises, and the next child, though healthier, looks just as desperate. The final visible child doesn't have a discernible age or gender, but the face is haunting. Beyond it are only swirling shadows, though the occasional movement can be gleamed.

Harry reaches out and lays a hand on the glass.  _It's us._


	20. Chapter 20

Break is over, and classes have resumed. Hermione, to Harry's endless amusement, is only frustrated that he and Ron didn't discover the identity of Nicholas Flamel while she was away. Harry's not too worried; now that Hermione is back and ready to research, he doubts that it will take too long at all. That might be a bit optimistic; they've found no mention of the man in any library book so far, and Ron is becoming frustrated.

As enthusiastic as James is about solving the mystery, he's not fond of reading, either, and his attention is quickly diverted by the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Snape will be the referee, which infuriates him to no end. Though Ron and Hermione advise him not to play, there's no reserve Seeker, and James isn't about to let his team down, even if he does have to play for the Slytherins. In truth, he wants to be the hero again, even if only for a little while.

That urge to play hero might be why, when James finds Neville hopping around the halls under the Leg-Locker Curse, he performs (well, gets Lily to perform, but same thing, really), the countercurse at once. Neville collapses to the ground, sobbing in gratitude, and James glances around uneasily.

"Get up, mate, you're fine," he mutters, red faced. "Here!" He shoves a chocolate frog in Neville's face.

"Thank you," Neville sniffs, accepting the candy with shaking hands. Instead of eating it right away, he stares at James until the James realizes that he's waiting for him to ask what happened.

"Alright, who did it?" James leans back, getting comfortable and preparing for a long story.

Instead, Neville just shivers and sobs, "Malfoy. I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Malfoy," James growls." Of course."

"D'you want the card back?" Neville asks, and James grabs it and stuffs it into his pocket without a second glance. He nods stiffly at Neville and walks briskly off.

 _What do you think you're doing?_ Potter hisses.

_Something I should have done a long time ago._

_That's not an answer!_  James ignores Potter's cursing and enters their common room. Sure enough, Draco is splayed causally over the dark green couch. It looks like he's taking a study break, if the notes scattered around him count for anything.

"Potter," Draco nods. Then he registers James's grim face. "What's up with you?"

"Hey!" Draco yells as James grabs him by his collar and shoves him off the couch. "What the hell do you think you're—"

"You shut up," James hisses, roughly pushing the boy back down and holding a foot threateningly over him. Draco falls silent, shocked.

"Now you listen here. You leave those kids alone, Malfoy, or I swear to God—"

"Is this about  _Neville?"_  Draco demands. Without hesitation, James brings his foot down on Draco's fingers, and Draco whimpers in pain.

"Next time," James smiles, "that will be your chest. And I will do it again and again and again until your chest caves in and your ribs shatter, piercing your rapidly collapsing lungs and you die."

"You're mad," Draco whispers.

"Oh, just a little annoyed," James laughs, "no, you don't want me to be  _really_ angry. You won't like that very much, I don't think."

 _What the hell is going on?_  Harry sees James preparing to make good on his promise.  _Do not so much as move._

James freezes, conflicted. His eyes dart back and forth. Other than himself and Draco, the Slytherin room is abandoned. His head is aching, and he wants nothing more than to- than to-  _why_ does he want to do that, again?

James turns tail and runs inside. Harry is left staring down at a terrified Draco.

_I don't suppose Lily knows a charm to erase memories?_

XXXXX

By the time that Harry gets around to telling Ron and Hermione about what had happened, rumors of Neville being the reason behind Draco's finger splint have already made it around the school twice. Of course, not everyone buys into that theory. The current argument is that Draco must have sprained them from hitting the wall too hard in laughter. People are taking bets, though Harry doesn't know how they plan to discover the truth of the situation—Neville, for obvious reasons, isn't talking.

Somehow, the teachers remain oblivious.

As Harry tells his friends an edited version of the story, he finds himself playing with something in his pocket. Absentmindedly, he removes the card and gives it a glance. Dumbledore again.

 _That's it!_ Harrison exclaims excitedly. Harry pauses. Sure, they had planned to research later, but he hadn't realized Harrison was already close to front.

 _The card!_ Harrison says, a whine creeping into his voice.  _Harry, you have to look at the card! Look, see? Flamel!_

Without waiting for Harry, Harrison blurts out, "Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the 12 uses of dragon's blood,  _and his work in alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel!"_

Hermione's already on her feet, exclaiming, "Stay there!" Then she's dashed off to the girls' dormitories.

Harrison nods, still happily muttering, "It's on the card. Remember, Ron, we got one on the train this summer? That's where we heard the name, I knew we'd heard it before!"

Hermione quickly returns, lugging a huge old book with her. "I never thought to look in here!" she whispers excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

" _Light?"_  Says Ron. Hermione ignores him.

"I knew it!  _I knew it!"_ She points to something in the text. "Nicholas Flamel is the  _only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!"_

When she's met by silence, she pushes the book towards Ron and Harry. Harry only takes a quick glance, as Harrison does seem to know what it is, even if he didn't realize a response would have been nice. Ron grudgingly reads the paragraphs that detail how the stone can give someone immortality. Nicholas Flamel, of course, is the stone's owner.

When Ron's finished, Hermione says, "See? The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringott's!"

"No wonder someone wants that," Harry mutters. The three pack up their things and return to their dorms, promising to meet again tomorrow.

XXXXX

_Who was that?_

They're lying in their bed, curtains drawn, more inside their head than out. Harry is shaking his head at Potter, the lack of sleep showing in the dark shadows under his eyes.

_I don't know._

_Should we ask him?_

Harry grins weakly.  _You really must be desperate, if you're willing to talk with James._

 _I don't like it, Harry._  Potter sits down on an internal couch and buries his head in his hands.  _What if_ He _has woken up?_

_So what if he has? We'll keep an eye on James. I won't let anyone use him like that again._

Potter just shakes his head.  _Harry…_

 _What do you want me to?!_  Harry explodes.  _I'm not going to just sit here and watch the system fall apart. If I planned to let our lives go to shit, I would have stayed with the Dursleys. No. We're free now, okay? We're_ free,  _and Hell if I let them control my life still. Okay? That's not happening._

Potter says nothing, and Harry returns to front still angry. After a moment, he locks himself in front, closing off his alters' method of access. He'll deal with this tomorrow.

For the first time in months, he dreams without nightmares.


	21. Chapter 21

"Do you think we could get anything else out of Hagrid? He was the one who let slip about Flamel's involvement, after all."

"I don't know about that. He might get angry."

"So? Com'on, Hermione, this is important!"

They're sitting down by the lake, enjoying the sun as they bicker. Now that they're closer than ever to solving the mystery, it frustrates Ron that they seem to have reached a dead end. Harry has to admit that it  _is_  annoying. Everything's annoying lately. There's so much school work, and though Lily may not mind it, she's not the one losing her free time. Actually, Harry can't remember a time that his alters were so active, not since the abuse was at its height. Things are changing. He hates change.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione questions. "You seem a bit distracted."

Harry shrugs. "There's another Quidditch match coming up—against Ravenclaw, this time. I'm still going to play, mind you, Snape or no Snape. I won't let him think that he's gotten the better of me."

"Is that really the best idea?"

"Oh quit nagging him! He'll be fine, won't you, Harry?"

"I certainly hope so." But he doesn't  _know_ , not for sure, and Quidditch is the least of his problems. He doesn't think that his attacker, whoever they might have been, would be stupid enough to attempt the same trick twice. That isn't to say that Snape, guilty or not, isn't a pain. He seems to have something personal against Harry, as frequently as he takes jabs against his student. Still, he's just a petty teacher. If he's the type of person who boosts his ego through insulting those smaller than him, then Harry wants nothing to do with him. He's known too many oversized vermin to worry about a snake.

XXXXX

They had their wands with them? Really? Didn't they realize that he could handle this himself? James rolls his eyes and mounts his broom. Dumbledore's in the crowd. No matter how sulky Snape gets, he wouldn't dare attack them in front of Dumbledore. It's all fine, jeesh!

It would be nice if Snape would judge fairly, though. James has barely lifted off of the ground, and Snape is already calling penalties for no reason other than feeling like it. James resolves to ignore him. If he lets Snape get too him, he won't be able to concentrate, and he really just wants to find the snitch already. If anyone still doubts that he has what it takes, he'll prove them wrong!

He circles high above the ground, keeping a sharp eye on for the snitch as well as anything amiss. He feels a bit dizzy, but that could just be the excitement. He feels someone else moving up beside him, but it could easily just be Harry or Potter wanting to see the match. Even though the presence is unrecognizable. Even though it  _should_ be obvious to him.

There's a flash of gold, and James streaks towards the ground. The snitch travels towards Snape, and James follows it, leaning forwards and willing the broom to go even faster. The Ravenclaw seeker is slow to respond, but no matter. How cool would it be if James could win now, before even five minutes had passed?

James just barely misses barreling into Snape. Then his fingers close, he pulls out of his dive, and he's triumphantly waving the snitch for all to see, whooping in glee. He lands with a flourish and graciously accepts the praise of his classmates as they swarm the field. None of them notice that he sways a bit, vision temporarily darkening around the edges. He doesn't allow anyone to notice. He smiles as wide as he can, and he's still smiling when he's finally able to duck behind the bleachers by himself.

 _What do you want from me?_  James demands. Without anyone else around to demand his attention, James is overwhelmed by the alter's presence. It makes him feel dirty, somehow.

 _You've changed,_ the voice mutters.

 _I don't know what you mean. Who the hell are you?_ There's no response.  _Fine, be that way. If you're not even going to talk to me, why don't you just leave?_ James begins to get irritated.  _I'll get Harry!_

 _You think he can fight me?_ The tone of the voice makes James shiver, though he doesn't know why. It's just another alter. Why should he, of all people, be afraid?

 _Yes, I do. Scram!_ In response, the voice only laughs. James isn't sure what to do.

"Harry!" Hermione calls, "Oh, Harry, you played so well!"

At the same time, Ron is exclaiming, "Good job mate! It's shame that you had to help Slytherin, but I think I made up for it, punching Malfoy in the face."

Then "Harry" looks up, and they both freeze.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asks unsurely. The alter eyes them silently and smirks when Hermione automatically takes a step back. Then the body shudders, dropping suddenly, and James is staring wide eyed at his friends.

"Oh, man, that's awesome!" He laughs, trying to hide his unease. "What for? Too bad he got a punch in, looks like your nose must hurt." But Ron's smile remains strained, and they walk back into Hogwarts in near silence.

XXXXX

Little changes over the course of the next few months. Things may be balanced precariously, but they are balanced. Nothing new can be learned about either Flamel nor the new alter, though the former may have Hermione's distraction to blame. Despite finals being over ten weeks away, they're all that she can think about. Somehow, she keeps managing to drag Harry and Ron away to her study sessions, as well. Today, as always, it's in the library. As usual, Lily is the one doing the studying, though Harrison is close behind her. Absorbed as they are in their reading, they don't look up when Ron begins talking until they hear the responding voice, male and decidedly not Hermione's.

"What're you lot up ter? Yer not still lookin' fer Nicholas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Ron brags, " _and_  we know what the dog's guarding, it's a Philosopher's St—"

" _Shhhh_!" Hagrid quickly checks around them for listening ears. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"Actually, we have a few questions," Lily says carefully, bookmarking her tome and placing it down. "We're a bit curious about what, besides Fluffy, is—"

"SHHHHH!" Lily draws back a bit, gripping the desk, but Hagrid doesn't notice her fear. "Listen—come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabittin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh."

"I suppose we'll see you later then." Lily watches Hagrid leave before she relaxes her position. When she glances at her friends, she notices Hermione looking at her oddly. "What?" She asks, flushing.

"Nothing," Hermione says after a beat of silence. Lily raises an eyebrow, but Hermione just turns back to her book. For a moment, Lily has to resist the urge to bite her own fingers until she can calm down, but she manages to return to her reading with little fuss. Behind her, Harrison has fallen silent.

"Dragons," Ron says, and Lily starts. Ron clarifies, "he was in the section for dragons. I wonder why? Dragons are dangerous—you should see the ones Charlie's got off some wild ones in Romania. And anyway, what did he have behind his back?"

Hermione joins the conversation."I suppose we might find out tonight."

XXXXX

That night, Potter is the one who, alongside Ron and Hermione, makes the trek to Hagrid's cottage. Hagrid's curtains are drawn, and when they knocked, he calls, "who is it?" Curious as the others may have been, only Harry is willing to keep close to front around a secretive adult male. James, to their surprise, wasn't in the mood.

After everyone has finished refusing Hagrid's less-than-delectable snacks, they settle down to business.

"So—yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," Potter says plainly. "We were wondering if you could tell us what, besides Fluffy, is guarding the Philosopher's Stone."

Hagrid frowns at him. "O' course I can't. Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even knew abou' Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you  _do_  know, you know everything that goes on round here," says Hermione, beaming at Hagrid. Potter nods at her in admiration. She smiles at him before continuing, "We only wondered who had  _done_  the guarding, really. We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

When Hagrid seems to swell with pride, Potter knows that they've got him. He also makes a mental note to be careful with Hermione. She's too intelligent for her own good—or, rather, for the good of those around her.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let's see… he borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o' the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—Professor Quirrell—an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

" _Snape?"_

"Yeah—yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped  _protect_  the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

"Of course not," Potter smoothly intervenes before Ron and Hermione can say anything, "I'm sure that he wouldn't do such a thing." He ignores Ron's incredulous look. If Ron wishes, he can think that Harry can be just as manipulative as Hermione, but Potter refuses to gravely insult the Potion's Master like that. The man might not be the best teacher, but accusing him of something so terrible would be inappropriate.

"Hagrid," he asks, shifting uncomfortably, "could you please open one of the windows? It's really warm in here."

"Can't, Harry, sorry." Hagrid glances at the fire, and Potter follows his gaze.

"Hagrid," he says slowly, "what  _is_  that?" But in truth, he already knows. Resting on the fire was a large, black egg.

"Ah," says Hagrid nervously, "That's—er…"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" Ron says, crouching over the fire so that he can get a better look. "It must have cost you a fortune."

"Won it," Hagrid says, "las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" Hermione asks, looking more than a bit dubious.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," says Hagrid as he pulls out a large book from under his pillow and proceeds to explain all about how to care for dragon eggs.

XXXXX

Hermione's interest in the Philosopher's Stone renewed, Harry quickly finds himself back in the library every afternoon—or, more accurately, that's where  _Lily_  finds herself. More and more often now, Harrison is helping her. Even he can't stand spending his only time at front involving listening to rants about wizard history. It's stifling for him, though even now, he has to hide. The problem with Harrison is his tendency to startle easily and to cover his ears and rock when there's too much stimuli. It's his habitual sucking on their sleeves and freakish ability to recite huge chunks of text given the slightest provocation. It's how quickly he gets frustrated and how he often falls silent or tries to wander off before a conversation is over. As much as Lily tries to help him, she can't keep everything from slipping through. At least a few Ravenclaws are convinced that the Boy Who Lived is more than a bit dead in the head.

It's Hermione who finally approaches them. "I've been to the library…" she begins.

Lily forces herself to laugh. "I'm not surprised. Don't you know more than the teachers, now?"

Hermione shifts uncomfortably, refusing to rise to the bait. "I came across a condition… it's fascinating, really, very interesting… Hogwarts doesn't talk about it anywhere, you understand, so you probably haven't heard of it, it's a muggle condition… Erm, it's caused by… well, that's irrelevant right now. Um… Harry, you see, you're always  _changing._ Sometimes, you act perfectly like a child, but then you're so cold, and sometimes you almost know more than I do, but others time you're as bad as Ron! And I thought you were just putting on masks at first, but… Well, the condition is called… no, it  _used_  to be called Multiple Personality Disorder, but now it's Dissociative Identity Disorder."

The blood drains from Lily's face. Within moments, Potter is staring coolly out at the young witch. "What about it?"

Hermione's eyes are wide. "Oh, Harry," she breathes, and Potter curses himself. She saw the switch. Hermione understands that they switched! And now, she's backtracking. "But I guess you're not, are you? Harry, I mean. But oh, maybe I shouldn't have said that! The books say that it's very rare, you understand, and absolutely none of them have any advice other than to get you to a therapist, but this is Hogwarts, no one would know what to do with you, and I'm not sure even you know what to do with you… do you even know what I'm talking about? They said that alters black out. You do know that you have Dissociative Identity Disorder, right? Or, you know that there are others in your head, at least?... Harry?"

"…Harry…?" And horror dawns on the witch's face as she realizes that she may never have known Harry Potter at all.


	22. Chapter 22

"Harry?" Hermione asks, her pitch shooting up at least a decimal. Potter winces. It's too loud. The library is too bright. His thoughts are whirling too fast. What the hell is he supposed to do?

"…No." He says. He took too long to answer, but at least Hermione hasn't fainted yet, though she does look close to it. Her face has gone pale and she's shivering like it's still the middle of winter. She's still muttering under her breath. Apologizing, he realizes, and dread settles heavily in his stomach. If she knows that they have DID…

"We weren't raped, if that's what you're wondering." Even Potter is surprised by how tired the voice sounds. At least Hermione, startled as she may be, seems relieved by this confession.

"I'm sorry, it's just they said it's caused by abuse."

"Not all abuse is sexual." Hermione nods, trying to hide the shock on her face. The dread in Potter's stomach multiplies.

 _What the hell are you doing?_ No answer or even acknowledgement that Potter was heard.

"May I ask who I'm talking to?" Hermione tries, and Potter wonders what book she read to do that in. He distinctly remembers reading that acknowledging alters makes them stronger, as if ignoring them will make them go away. Maybe she realized how stupid that was? She is smart, after all.

But the silence drags on without an answer.  _You need to speak now,_ Potter urges. Hermione is starting to look honestly scared. Potter's preparing to take back control of the situation when he finally speaks.

"Harry."

"No, I—" Hermione laughs awkwardly, "I know that. But who are you? I mean, it's alright if you don't want to tell me, but—"

"My name is Harry," Harry repeats slowly. Hermione freezes as if in shock, and Harry laughs. It's a low, bitter thing, and Potter winces.

"I'm sorry," Harry smiles tightly, "I'm being very rude, aren't I? Here you are, just now realizing one of your closest friends has multiple personalities, and here I am, scaring you off. I'm very sorry."

_What the hell are you doing? Goddamn it Harry…_

Harry ignores Potter. He's staring up at the ceiling and mouthing something, god knows what. Potter pushes back into front, deciding that enough is enough. The body shudders a bit as they switch, and Potter finds himself blinking harder than usual. He wonders if their switching is always this visible or if the stress is making it harder to switch seamlessly.

"Sorry, Hermione. Harry's a bit… that was Harry, if you were wondering. Er, I'm Potter, it's a pleasure to meet you. But, well, yes, he can get a little… intense, I suppose. I suppose one can't blame him for being angry, with him being stuck with the lot of us, and all." Potter takes in a large breath and slowly blows it out. "Hermione, I know we're acting very, very strangely right now. We're usually not this bad. It's just that you're the first person our age to ever know that we have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and only the second person over all… Dumbledore is the other, in case you were…" Potter trails off, but nothing more needs to be said, anyway. Hermione is nodding. She closes her eyes for a minute, but when she opens them, she seems more sure of herself. She nods again and forces herself to smile.

"I have to admit, I really have no idea what's going on. I think I might need to research this a little bit more."

At first, she tenses when Potter laughs, but when she realizes it's with her, not at her, she joins in.

As she's gathering up her books to leave, she asks, "So… are you the one I'm friends with, or is that someone else?"

"You know a lot of us, actually. I rather like you, but it's Lily who most enjoys spending time with you. And James is the asshole, just by the way. Thought you should know." When Hermione smiles, Potter knows it's going to be okay.

XXX

_What the bloody hell was that about? Harry, what the_ fuck? Potter's panicked anger must be unusually strong, as within moments, James, Lily, and even Freakazoid draw close. Harry ignores them. Operating in near silence, he prepares for bed, leaving Potter to quickly explain the situation to the others. Harry doesn't react even when chaos breaks out. Ignoring the internal fighting, he opens a book and begins to read. Potter has to admit, his ability to shut them out is admirable, annoying as it can be at times.

 _Are you done now?_  Harry asks blandly, bookmarking the progress,  _because I'm tired of reading about Quidditch._

 _Give me that!_ James demands, resetting the book to its old page. Potter grits his teeth in frustration, and James glares.  _I was in the middle of reading it!_

 _That's irrelevant right now!_ Potter notices Harry's blank face and groans.  _He thinks we're acting like a bunch of children, James. Just knock it off._

 _You are acting like a bunch of school children,_ Lily laughs awkwardly. She takes the body, lies down, and curls up in the covers. The dorm is still too loud for her to actually sleep, but she doesn't mind.  _Harry, we're here to help you… I mean, really, that's why we exist. I think I know what's bothering you, but…_ she ignores the curious glances of James and Potter.  _Just be careful. You're so stressed lately, you're going to split again soon if you have to take much more._

 _Right,_  Harry mutters. After a moment, he repeats himself.  _Right. Thank you for your concern, but I'll be fine. Please leave me alone now._ After a moment, Lily complies, and James sulkily follows her. Potter just crosses his arms.

_Well?_

_What did she see?_ Harry asks.  _She saw something that tipped her off. Who was that? James was acting as if one of us was talking to him, but I didn't see anyone there._

 _Maybe it's one of his splits?_ Potter suggested.  _It's possible, don't give me that look! I know that none of us could see Sniffles at first because he was still a fragment of Bruises until the bullying got worse. Maybe James is just getting rid of his old antagonism._

 _Maybe…_ Harry shakes his head. This time, the following silence is fueled by exhaustion.

_Goodnight, Harry._

XXX

"Harry! Harry." She catches up to them after breakfast, and Potter quickly scans the area. "Don't worry," Hermione grins sheepishly, "I'm not going to talk about it in public. I called you Harry, didn't I? Come on, class doesn't start for another half an hour."

Potter lets himself be pulled into the library, and he seats himself without fuss. James is griping again, but that's so typical that Potter doesn't even bat an eyelash.

"Alright," Hermione begins, "so I couldn't sleep last night, so I did do more research, as I'd promised. I had to resort to searching through huge medical tomes to find new snippets I hadn't seen before, but that's alright, I understand that it is rare. Do you mind me asking questions?"

Harry doesn't respond, so Potter finds himself shrugging. "Sure, shoot."

"Just how many of you are there? A lot of the books only mention two or three alters, but I'm sure I've already met more than that."

"Like?" Potter prods.

"Well, you, for one, and Harry. Lily, you said, and James. And I think that it's someone else who acts Autistic like that. And someone glared at me before… And in potions, was that the same person who glared? They felt so much darker, though…"

"You really are too smart for your own good! Yes, that's right. Well, I'm the host. The gist of it is that I use the body the most often. Harry is our original. James is… well, he used to be a right git, but he's gotten better now. Lily is our resident magic genius. Harrison, the one who acts like a socially awkward freak, he's the actual genius. In potions, I think you're referring to Jay. She's James' twin sister, but she's not very friendly. There's the children, as well."

Hermione's face lights up. "Yes, I've read about that! Littles, aren't they called? What are they like? Do they really act like children, or are they old for their age? How many of them are there? I read that most alters are children, but I realize that we're not so old ourselves, and all of the examples were in their forties, so I'm not sure if that applies."

"There's a few of them, and yes, they act like children their age. A good many of us are teenagers, though," Potter answers, deciding to ignore the rest of her rant. She just nods thoughtfully.

"You live with your aunt and uncle, don't you?"

Potter stiffens. "Yes, but if you're asking about our past, I'd rather not share."

"Oh!" Hermione gasps, turning red. "Oh, no, not at all, I'm sorry! I was just so curious, I suppose I'm firing off questions without even thinking of them first."

"It's alright," Potter offers, but he's more nervous than he's willing to let on. He's not a science experiment! He's not a freak show freak. He knows that it's strange, but…

"Hermione, you can't… you can't tell anyone, alright?"

Potter's pleased to see the betrayal that flashes through her eyes as she promises, "oh, no! Of course not, Ha—Potter. I won't tell a soul. I'm so sorry for bothering you, really, I was just worried. Tell me if there's anything that I can do to help, alright? Really, anything at all."

"Class is about to start," Potter points out, and she turns white and dashes off without waiting for an answer. Potter sighs and sinks to the floor. He ignores the urge to hide under a table, and one of child alters runs back off inside.

 _That went well,_ he cautiously comments to Harry. Harry shrugs in response. Slightly irked, Potter continues,  _at least she's interested. Fascination is better than fear, at least._

_For now. But how long will she want to talk to keep talking to us once she realizes just how fucked up we really are?_

Potter has no answer.

XXX

Time passes, though, and Hermione seems no closer than she was before to abandoning them. She remains highly curious, but she begins to sober a bit as she adjusts to the situation. She makes an effort to talk with Harrison and indulge his obsessions. She watches closely as Snake and Draco laugh at the Gryffindor's expense. Though she obviously doesn't like Jay, as the two have very different opinions on what it means to be a Gryffindor, she makes an effort to engage her in conversation that doesn't involve cursing Snape or Harry. Hermione and Lily become much closer friends once Hermione understands why Harry doesn't always act like Lily does.

Hermione doesn't like James much, and she goes quiet whenever he and Ron begin to chat. She doesn't talk to him much herself, but she starts to look thoughtful whenever she sees him. When Ron makes ignorant comments, she no longer winces. Now, she looks calculating.

It feels like only days later when she poses her question to Harry. "I understand why you want to keep your condition a secret, I really do. But is it really right to let Ron think that you're so prejudiced?"

 _I'm not prejudiced!_ James insists. Harry barely spares him a glance.

"What are you suggesting? He would be furious if he knew how well we sometimes relate to other Slytherins. You know that he wouldn't approve."

"Well… "Hermione shifts her weight awkwardly. James groans.

_Oh, don't play ignorant, Harry! We both know what she means._

"Hermione," Potter says, taking front, "we're not going to tell Ron. He knows nothing about muggle conditions. He would think we're insane. Besides, I thought you barely liked him yourself? Why are you so eager to have him know?"

_Hold on. I don't mind Ron knowing, not at all!_

_Yes, James, you've made that perfectly clear. Problem is,_ _**I** _ _don't want him knowing. You know he wouldn't react well, you know that!_

Unaware of the inner battle, Hermione continues, "Well… it just must be a lot for you to have to handle on your own, that's all. I think you need more allies."

"You think we need more allies," Potter's eyes narrow, "or you want someone you can discuss us with?" Hermione turns red and begins to sputter. "I thought so."

"Now hold on a second!" James demands, and Hermione starts. She's still not used to how quickly they can switch. James grins for a moment before he gets annoyed again. "I've been wanting to tell Ron for months. Why does Lily get to let her best friend in on the secret while my friend gets left in the dark?"

_Because your friend is an ignorant arse who would try to lock us up in the loony bin!"_

"He is not!" James realizes that he's spoken allowed, but quickly dismisses it. He's never been one for embarrassment. "Sure, Hermione. I'll gladly tell him."

"James…?" She hazards a guess, and James rolls his eyes.

"Yes, Hermione, this is James speaking. And it will be me speaking later, when we let Ron know about us."

_You can't do this._

_Like you can stop me,_ James retorts.  _Look, it's not like Harry cares._  While Potter tries to confront Harry, James agrees to meet Ron in their dorms later. That's another advantage; with Ron knowing, they won't feel the need to hole up with just Hermione so often. See, this is a brilliant idea! And if it inspires Potter to never speak to him again, well, that's just all the better.


	23. Chapter 23

Everyone else is in their common rooms, and James hopes that they won't get caught. He's brought their invisibility cloak, just in case, but Ron and Hermione have no such protection. With any luck, they'll all be back in their dorms before curfew, but he's not quite sure. It might take a while to explain everything to Ron, after all, and if Ron starts asking new questions, Hermione's sure to follow his example.

As usual, they meet in the library, though this time, it's more so they can easily excuse their actions if someone does see them. Hermione manages to get there before James, but it takes Ron another few minutes to come dragging in.

"What was so urgent that we had to meet right away?" he gripes, shooting Hermione an irritated glare. James realizes that he thinks Hermione wants to show him more research about the stone, and he can't help but snicker. Ron glares at him, too, and James gleefully makes a face at him.

"Oh, calm down, Ronald! This is important." Hermione takes a deep breath and looks at James. "You should really be the one to tell him, you know."

James shrugs and levels a stare at Ron. "We have multiple personalities."

Ron's mouth drops open, and Hermione turns red. "Maybe… maybe you should have been a little more gentle…"

"Wow," Ron says once he recovers a bit. He's choking slightly on his laughter, but he seems more frustrated than anything else. "Good joke, man. Now what am I really here for?"

"No joke," James insists, "We have Multiple Personality Disorder. Long story short, I'm not Harry, and I never have been. Name's James, nice to formally meet ya, since well, we've kind of known each other since the beginning, but whatever."

"This isn't really that funny. Really, Harry. Cut it out."

"I'm not joking." James stubbornly crosses his arms across his chest, Ron takes a step forwards with clenched fists, and Hermione quickly intervenes.

"Think about it, Ron. You've said yourself how different he seems sometimes. Remember that time in potions when he swore at Snape? And even you must have noticed how he was almost a different person when talking to one or another of us. Well, he actually is different people, so that would be why! And you— James, you have to learn to be more subtle!"

"You believe him?" Ron asks, slowly glancing from one to the other. Hermione firmly nods, and Ron turns a bit white. He lowers himself slowly into a chair and just stares for a minute. "So you're not Harry?" he finally asks. James just shakes his head, and Ron groans. "Where the hell is Harry, then?"

" _Where_  is Harry? The hell do you mean by that? I can show him to you, if you want. He just didn't want to talk to you right because you're kind of my friend, not his. Dude, you barely even know Harry."

"Right," Ron says, gulping a bit. He stands back up and shoots an accusatory look at James. "Alright, then. Just how many of you are there?"

"Well. There's me and Harry, obviously. Potter and Lily, Jay, Petal, Harrison, Snake…"

"Snake!" Ron interrupts, looking horrified. James just rolls his eyes.

"What, you didn't think  _I_  was the one making friends with Draco, did you? As if!"

"So you are part Slytherin!"

"Some of us are Slytherins, yeah. So what? I'm not. Jay isn't. Relax, Ron, seriously. We're Gryffindor through and through, even Snake just exists cause Harry got all stupid about not fitting in. He's not really that brave, but even he's not a real snake."

"But part of you is evil!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Ronald!" Hermione exclaims. James hushes her quickly.

"Look, Ron. I know this is a lot to take in at once. But we've not evil, I promise. I used to be weary of that, too, trust me! But they've been pretty good since we got here. Sure, Potter's a git, but he's a decent enough git. And yeah, Snake sucks, but he's barely even out. I think he's just here to shut Draco up, honestly. He's not even like the rest of us, he blacks out half the time anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asks, distracted by the new topic.

"Well, we can see what the rest of us are doing, you know? Like, Potter's off pouting in a corner somewhere inside the head, and Harry's with him, probably watching to make sure that I don't say anything too stupid. But Snake apparently can't see out anymore even if he wanted to. Which is fine with me, you know. Good riddance!"

Finally, Ron seems appeased. "So you really are a Gryffindor, huh?" When James nods, he breaks into a wide smile, which James quickly mirrors. "Well, you know what they say. The enemy of my enemy is my friend! Just don't let Snake do anything too horrible, and I don't see why you and I can't get along. You and… who's the other Gryffindor, again?"

"Jay. You'll like her, I promise. She's my twin sister, and she hates the snakes! You've seen her in potions, she was the one who got onto Snake."

"Awesome!" Ron laughs.

Hermione frowns. "Is it really good for you all to be so divided? Shouldn't you be looking for a way to get along better?" But James just brushes her off.

XXXXX

_What is wrong with you?_  Potter turns on James the moment they reach the common room, and James has to struggle not to react until they're safely in their dorm.

_I don't know what you're talking about. I think that that went pretty well, actually._

_Pretty well?! For one thing, I don't think Ron actually has the slightest idea what you're talking about. Part Slytherin? None of us are parts! Part evil? None of us are bloody evil! And he better not get along well with Jay, considering what a bitch she is!_

_Don't you dare call my sister a bitch!_

_I'll call her whatever the hell I want to call her! She's a persecutor no better than Petal, and you know it!_

_What the hell am I, then? We're the exact same!_

_A bloody idiot, that's what you are._ Furious, Potter mentally turns away, blocking James and ending the conversation.

 _That… that… I finally get a friend for myself, and this is how he reacts? Shoulda known that none of them gave a rat's ass about me. No, it's all about bloody Potter and his feelings, his friends! No one cares what I want, of course not,_ James mutters viciously to himself. After a moment, he, too, disappears inside.

Harry stares silently after him. For yet another night, he gets no sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

James and Ron high five, and Harry can practically feel Malfoy's glare burning into the back of his head. He wants to just join the Slytherin and get this over with, but Jay is taking her sweet time packing up, organizing everything in their bag.

 _Enough,_ Harry mutters,  _there's no reason to antagonize him, honestly._ Jay disagrees, but after their quill is neatly tucked away, she grudgingly joins Draco as they walk to Transfiguration. At least Slytherin doesn't share that class with another house. For once, Harry almost prefers that they were headed to History of Magic. At least there's no way that James and Jay would remain close then.

"So," Draco sulks, interrupting his thoughts, "you and Weasley, huh?"

"Draco, we've been over this before," Harry points out, trying not to feel too irritated.

"Yes, but that was before you started talking to him during class! Potter-" Harry winces. It's never a good thing when Draco's referring to him by his last name.

 _Oh get over it,_ Jay laughs.

"-you spend all of your time with those… those…!" Draco throws up his hands in disgust, as if he can't even think of a word bad enough to describe Ron and Hermione. "Look, I'm just warning you. If you spend too much time with the other houses, people are going to think that you're a traitor."

"I talk with you every evening, don't I?"

"Sure, after you're done meeting with the blood traitor and Mudblood!" Draco pauses to shake his head in disgust. Then he stops completely as something occurs to him. "You don't have a crush on her, do you? Because I swear Potter, she's nothing special. Are you blind? Even ignoring her blood-"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Now annoyed, Harry walks quickly, leaving Draco hurrying to keep up, muttering "I'm just saying" under his breath.

To Harry's relief, after a bit of grumbling, both Jay and James leave, and he settles down for class.

XXXXX

It's a tentative balance, but for a few more days, Harry manages it. Somehow, Potter manages to convince James not to bug Draco too much, and though far more reluctantly, Jay follows his lead. Lily still dislikes Ron, but it's rare that she'll have to face one Gryffindor without the other, so she's certainly not a problem. At first, Petal was murderous with rage over Harry leaking the secret, but when she saw that absolutely nothing was going to be done about it, she calmed down, and watching Harry struggle to keep everyone happy seemed to amuse her. He was allowed breakfast, at least, so he can only assume that she isn't going to blow up at him anytime in the near future.

It's Friday, and he has double Potions with the Gryffindors. Snape is in a bad mood, and Jay is silently seething. After a few spats nearly turned into a full out fistfight this morning, there's no interhouse communication. There's little talking at all. Even though everyone's just working in silence, or as close to it as possible, Snape's still wandering the rows and snapping at everyone. Points are being taken left and right, even from the Slytherins, and Harry's sick of it. Even Potter, quick as he usually is to stand up for Snape, agrees that it's miserable. Only Jay's willingly paying much attention to the outside world, and she's absorbed in her potion.

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Snape snaps at Neville. The poor boy looks like he's going to cry. Jay's almost snaps the handle off of their cauldron in irritation. Beside her, Draco snickers, and she glares so darkly he takes a step back in shock.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" Jay turns her glare on Snape.

"Not at all," she smiles. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ron's mouth drop open in surprise. He and Hermione exchange glances.

"Boy," Ron loudly whispers, "Snape must be in an awful mood if he's even picking on the Slytherins!" Snape whirls around, and Jay breathes a sigh of relief. Good old Gryffindor bravery. Not even she would be happy about annoying Snape right now!

Especially not with her head already feeling so funny.

 _Shit!_  Potter tries to take front, but Snake is already looking around in confusion. After a moment, he seems to accept the lapse of time, and he turns to work on their potion. He's not nearly as good as Jay was, but with Draco's help, they manage. Thankfully, even Snake is smart enough to remain quiet right now.

Finally, the bell is ringing. The students practically run out of the room in a mad dash to reach lunch. Draco and Snake end up beside Ron and Hermione.

"You're welcome," Ron jokes. Snake stares at him in confusion.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

For a moment, Ron seems caught off guard. Then he takes in Snake's posture and the way he's standing closer to Draco than to himself, and his eyes narrow. He mutters, "bloody Snake."

Snake's face turns red. "Listen here, you little blood traitor—"

"Guys!" Hermione shrilly intervenes, but Ron is already darting forward, fists raised, and Snake is laughing as if Ron won't do it. Behind Snake, Draco looks more than slightly confused, but he doesn't seem to mind this turn of events in the slightest.

"Back off, Weasley," he sneers, "or someone might tell mummy that the runt of the pack is misbehaving."

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione insists, trying to get between Ron and the two Slytherins, but Snake is sneering at Ron, and Ron pushes past her. He's just got his hand around Snake's collar, and Snake's preparing to hex him away, when a low drawl makes everyone freeze.

"And what, may I ask, is going on here?"

"Professor!" Hermione says in horror. Snape eyes her coolly.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"But—" Ron starts to protest.

"For each of you." Snape raises an eyebrow, daring someone else to speak up. No one does, and he walks briskly off, calling back behind him "detention with Hagrid at midnight. Do  _not_  be late." Ron turns to Snake, ready to curse him out, but notices that the boy is holding his head and looks a bit sick.

"Harry…?" Hermione carefully asks. The boy just shrugs, wincing as he laughs.

"Come on," Draco intervenes, grabbing Potter by the wrist and pulling him along, shooting a dark glare behind him. Ron makes a face back, and Hermione just rolls her eyes before turning to lecture her friend.

XXXXX

"You can't take us into the forest! Bloody hell Hagrid, it's called the Forbidden Forest for a reason!"

Hagrid barely glances at Ron. "Well, I don' have much o' a choice. Somethin's been hurtin' the unicorns, an' I need ter find out what."

"Hagrid," says Hermione carefully, "have you been crying?" The big man shrugs, but he shoots a mournful glance at the table. Potter notes that the dragon egg is gone. Dumbledore must have sent it away, then.

"Well, come on, then!" Hagrid says gruffly. "We're goin' ter split up. Ron, Hermione, yeh're comin' with me."

"Well, we want Fang, then!" Draco says. Potter notes the higher than usual pitch of his voice.

"Sure. I should warn yeh, he's a wimp." Potter holds his breath for a moment, trying to calm himself. That makes two of them, then; Draco looks horrified. Lovely. It looks like it will be up to him to keep the others safe.

They set off into the forest. If one ignores how even the lantern barely makes a dent in the shadowy dark, then Potter supposes that it's not too bad. Beside him, Draco is chattering nervously away to fill the silence. Potter wishes that he'd stop. If there is danger, he wants to be able to hear it coming. Behind him, Angry nods his agreement, lured to front by the injustice of the situation. Apparently, their frustration towards various teachers and classmates over the past few weeks has built up.

"What's that?" Draco demands.

"I'm not sure," Potter admits, holding up the lantern and squinting. "Draco, maybe you shouldn't be here right now."

"I'm not going to leave you." But his voice quivers, and he takes a step back when the wail repeats.

"Leave." Angry glares ahead into the darkness. "Just get somewhere safe. Take Fang with you. I'll join you in a moment; I just want to take care of something first. Maybe knock some sense into Hagrid."

When the next wail is louder, Draco obeys and darts off into the forest. Fang dashes ahead of him, and Angry bitterly smirks. Without hesitation, he sets off towards the noise. Protecting innocents has always been his job, and what could be more innocent than a unicorn?

Moonlight trickles eerily into the clearing, and Angry's blood boils with fury. The unicorn is already dead, and some shadowy figure is drinking its blood. Sick! Absolutely sick. Despite the power that Angry can feel thrumming from the wraith, he raises his wand and prepares to fight. The figure turns—

Angry falls to the ground, head exploding. His scar is burning,  _burning._ Something inside of them is thrashing, crawling closer to the surface of their mind, awakening from a long, cold slumber… the figure is attacking. Within moments, they'll be dead.

Then there's a shadow over them, and the wraith is retreating. The slow burning fades, and Angry finds himself facing a centaur. Unsure how to cope, he mentally steps back and allows Potter to stand on shaky legs.

"Thank you, sir," Potter says quietly. The centaur nods deeply at him.

"Get on my back, Harry Potter. You are not safe here." Reluctantly, Potter climbs onto the centaur and allows himself to be carried through the forest. He feels eyes on his back, and he gets the feeling that the centaur isn't meant to be doing this. He's very, very grateful, though he's not sure how to express this.

The centaur stops. "This is where I leave you. You are safe now. Good luck, Harry Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

Potter isn't quite sure what he means by that, but as the centaur is leaving, he can't resist calling out, "wait! What's your name?"

"My name is Firenze," he answers, bowing.

"Thank you, Firenze," Potter tells him, bowing back. He notices two other centaurs hiding in the shadows, but they make no move, so he pretends not to see them. Instead, he finds himself asking, "Why would anyone drink the blood of a unicorn?"

Firenze shivers. "The one who drinks the blood of a unicorn will be granted eternal life, but it will be a cursed life. To take the life of something so pure is true evil."

"That was Voldemort, then." Firenze nods, and Potter feels his fists curl. So it must be Voldemort who seeks the Philosopher's Stone. Was it Snape who was trying to steal it, then? People say that Snape used to be a Death Eater. Could he again be working for his master?

Angry turns to meet the sound of Hagrid rushing up with Ron and Hermione. Hermione meets his eyes and nods; Draco's safe, likely just unwilling to reenter the forest. Hagrid exchanges a few words with Firenze, thanking him for his help, but Angry can't be bothered to care.

 _Voldemort killed our parents? He's the reason we had to live with those scum?_ Potter nods in response. Angry's smile is vicious.

_Then I suppose we'll have to kill him._


	25. Chapter 25

"We need to get the stone!" James insists. Hermione still looks unsure, but Ron is nodding grimly. Potter's already told them what happened in the forest, and neither of them is stupid. If Voldemort could get his hands on the stone, he would be immortal. The wizarding world can't afford to face him again, not so soon, and Harry himself would have little chance of surviving. There's no chance that the man would wait long, either. Already so close to his goal, Voldemort must be moving soon. For a while, Hermione had managed to convince the others that the stone was safe with Dumbledore, but now Dumbledore has been called off by the Ministry for who knows how long. Time is running out.

"Are you sure that we shouldn't tell McGonagall?" Hermione tries one last time. James stubbornly shakes his head.

"You and Ron already tried to warn her about Snape, remember? She didn't believe you. And with Dumbledore gone, it's not like there's anyone else we can turn to, either." For a long moment, Hermione doesn't respond, and James begins to fear that they'll have to leave without her. For once, the entire system is in agreement. This is something that they have to do, with or without backup. Finally, though, Hermione nods her consent, and they all start off for the third floor. The invisibility cloak barely fits all three of them, and James has a tendency to try and walk faster than the other two, but somehow, they get there in one piece and again slip into the chamber that contains Fluffy.

James breathes a sigh of relief when the dog is already asleep. An enchanted harp is playing in the corner, and that seems to be all that was needed. He was afraid that they were going to have to rely on Lily again—not that he doesn't trust Lily, not at all, but it was still a frightening proposal.

"Alright," he whispers once they've gotten the trap door open, "I'll go first." Without waiting for a response, he drops down into the dark. He lands a few moments later, and, discovering that the ground beneath him is soft, calls down to instruct the others to join him.

Of course, it's only once they've all landed that they realize what they've landed on.

"Stay still!" Hermione demands, "Devil's Snare—Devil's Snare, it likes the dark and damp…"

"It's going to choke me!" Ron panics, struggling to free himself from the tendrils reaching his neck. "What are we going to do? It's got our arms!"

Even James is beginning to panic. Unlike Hermione, he finds remaining still to be a struggle, and he doesn't have the faintest idea how to cast a fire without wood.

 _Like this._ And then light is shining throughout the room and the plant quickly retreats. The three quickly scramble up into the ledge beside the pit.

"Way to go Lily!" James cheers.

"She did that without a wand?" Hermione asks in amazement, and Ron rolls his eyes.

"Not the time!"

James voices his agreement and hurries on to the next room, Ron and Hermione running to keep up behind him. He stops abruptly in the doorway, staring at the little winged things fluttering around by the high ceiling.

"Keys," Lily breaths.

"Shouldn't be too hard, then," James grins.

Meanwhile, Hermione has rushed across the room and is trying to open the door. Failing, she calls out, "you need an old key, big and old fashioned, probably silver like the handle."

"Got it!" James mounts the broom and rises into the air, scanning the room around him. The keys fail to react; he had been hoping that maybe the real key would have tried to retreat, or something.

"That one," Lily suddenly says, "the one on the right, flying by the second to last beam, about midway. Someone's touched it recently. Look, its wing is crooked."

"How do you even see these things?" James wonders. Regardless, he doesn't pause before shooting forwards. The key does its best to evade capture, but he's not the youngest Quidditch player in a decade for nothing. He manages to pin it up against a wall, almost breaking its already fragile wings. "Got it!" James hollers again, swooping back down and jumping off the broom. He shoves the key into the lock and turns it. The resulting click makes his grin widen to an almost impossible length.

It falls when he sees the next room. "Chess?"

"I suppose we'll have to play our way across," Ron determines. Reluctantly, James withdraws inside. He's never been good at chess, and he's not fond of the idea of standing there and taking orders on where to move. Lily takes his place and obediently replaces one of the bishops. She does what she's told without hesitation. When Ron willingly sacrifices himself, she doesn't make an effort to stop him, though one could almost see her respect for him grow. Once the game is won, she follows Hermione to the next room in silence. They pass an already knocked out troll and enter a long room with seven bottles displayed on a table. Behind and in front of them, two different fires alight.

" _Brilliant_ ," Hermione says, smiling brightly as she finishes reading the accompanying roll of paper, "this isn't magic—it's logic—a puzzle. A lot of great wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"There's only enough in each for one person, though," Lily points out. Hermione nods and smiles grimly.

"This one," she says, lifting the smallest bottle, "will take you through the black fire—to Snape. This," she lifts the round bottle at the end of the line, "will take me back to Ron." She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Har-" she catches herself and verbally stumbles on. "I suppose you have to be the one to face him."

"That's okay—really, it is. I'll let Harry himself handle it. We'll be fine."

Hermione nods and swallows the potion, trembling a bit. "It's like ice… Listen, I'll get Dumbledore. Alright? The broomsticks, Ron and I, we'll get help…"

"Hermione, it might wear off soon. Please go." To Lily's surprise, Hermione pulls her into a hug before rushing off. To Lily's immense relief, Hermione makes it through unharmed. Lily takes a deep breath and disappears inside. A moment later, Harry is left staring at the potion he needs to take. He picks it up and gulps quickly, grimacing. It really does feel like ice is spreading through his veins. It's not pleasant.

Harry enters the final chamber fully expecting to be met by Voldemort himself. Everyone inside is still clamoring close to the front, yearning to watch the possible destruction of their first and greatest enemy (but wouldn't they prefer to kill Vernon, if given the chance?), but Harry can feel them fading away. Freakazoid struggles the hardest to stay with him, but Harry discards him, as well. This is his battle. He's so useless in the rest of their life, this victory should be his. He owes it to the others to defeat Voldemort, but really, the grudge is far more personal to him than it could ever be to them. If Voldemort had never killed their parents, Harry would never have needed alters in the first place. He would have been normal.  _Sane_. Not the fucked up mess of a freak that he is now. Oh, he will make the man pay or die trying. Maybe he'll get lucky, and both of their paths will end here.

But it's Quirrell who turns to meet Harry, and the disappointment is so sharp that Harry almost wants to kill him just for not being Voldemort. He nods briskly at the professor, fingers curling up at his sides, imaging a neck between them to wring. Quirrell, though calm at first, looks a bit shocked at the expressions that must be crossing Harry's face. Harry tries to smile, this is a professor, he's here to help, here to protect the Stone from Voldemort, but he might be snarling instead. Oops.

Then he realizes that it doesn't matter. No, Quirrell is here to steal that Stone. That's why he's advancing forward like that. Fucking lovely.

"So it was you, huh?" Harry laughs bitterly. "What next? Snape's spell was to defend me?"

The nasty smirk on Quirrell's face tells him everything that he needs to know. That doesn't stop the professor from talking. "He was at school with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you  _dead_."

"Now, Potter," he says, and with a wave of his wand, ropes have appeared around Harry's body—"I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Harry realizes with a jolt that it's the Mirror of Erised. "You idiot," he laughs, and Quirrell tenses, "that only shows you what you desire most. It's all  _lies._ " When Quirrell looks back at him, he elaborates. "Mirror of Erised? Mirror of Desire? God, you're slow."

For a moment, he remembers his own vision from the mirror, and it makes him want to laugh. All of his alters getting along? No, not even that. All of them having their own bodies, their own lives, not trapped, forced to deal with his stupid mistakes and take over his life when he's fucked it up too badly. What a nice dream. Nice delusion. Never going to happen.

"If the mirror is here, it must be the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell insists, though he does look shaken. Harry just spits in his direction. Quirrell ignores him this time, muttering, "I don't understand… is the Stone  _inside_  the mirror? Should I break it?"

"Go ahead. Break the key to the mirror. Bloody brilliant, you are," Harry snarls. He tries to break the ropes but only manages to lose his balance and fall over. He could scream, if only he didn't want to distract Quirrell from doing something stupid!

"Help me, Master!" Quirrell cries out in despair. To Harry's horror, a voice answers, and it seems to be coming from Quirrell himself, though the man's lips aren't moving.

"Use the boy… Use the boy…"

Quirrell turns on Harry. "Yes—Potter—come here." He claps his hands, and Harry is free. He considers ignoring the command but figures that he'll be forced into this no matter what he tries. Sullen, he joins Quirrell by the mirror.

His jaw drops. His reflection is smiling at him. It pulls a blood red stone out of its pocket, winks, and returns it. Harry feels his own pocket grow suddenly heavier. Did he…? Does he have the Stone?

"Well?" Quirrell says impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry pauses, reaches for his courage, and decides to fuck it all. "I see my uncle dead." He blinks innocently up at Quirrell, who seems more than a bit shocked by this new development. The man's face is screwing up in anger, but he seems just the slightest bit nervous. Harry openly laughs, walking away. Screw Quirrell. Stuttering or not, the man is a fool.

But he doesn't get far.

"He lies… he lies…" The voice is high pitched and nasally. Harry winces as it continues. "Let me speak to him… face-to-face…"

Despite Quirrell's protests, the man begins to unravel his turban. Harry stands rooted to the spot, filled with almost as much morbid fascination as terror. But then Quirrell is turning, and all Harry wants to do is throw up. Staring out at him is another face, a chalk white face with red eyes and slit nostrils. "Harry Potter…" it whispers.

"Voldemort," Harry says, and suddenly he's shaking. As desperately as some part of his mind is screaming to run, to get away, and though he must be almost frozen in terror, all Harry can think about is the white hot fury over taking him. When the thing begins speaking again, Harry finds himself laughing. "Don't bother," he smiles viciously, only distantly aware of the hysterical edge to his voice, "if you're going to try to convince me to give you the stone, don't even fucking bother. You murdered my parents. I'd rather die a thousand times over than help you. You drank unicorn blood to live a cursed life? Oh, that's nothing to what I'll do to you…"

Voldemort's face turns dark and cruel. "Kill him," he says, and something deep and dark and ugly responds to the waves of shock and terror running through Harry's body. Suddenly, Harry's falling forwards, but while the body catches itself mid-fall, he doesn't.

And then  _something_  is staring out from behind the body's eyes. Magic swirls through the body, almost burning the skin with its intensity…

Hateful manages to grab hold of front. For a moment, the world freezes. He can read the terror on Quill's face; the man had walked closer, expecting to pin Harry down and murder him, but now that the magic is surrounding him, it seems that he's as cowardly as ever. Hateful doesn't know how Voldemort feels, but he hopes that this will be painful.

And then the magic is released and the air is pierced with an inhuman scream. Hateful laughs, delighted by the sensation, and the thing behind him would be grinning if it had a body. He can't see; the world around him is fading. The flash of light stole his vision, and the deafening screech stole his hearing, but he doesn't care. His muscles are liquid. He falls to the ground beside their wand, useless. It's probably good that Harry's wand has never been compatible with him; the burst of magic would have shattered it, he's sure.

As he fades, he hears the thing laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter and then the second year starts! I'm so excited, you have no idea! That one's where the clear distinction from cannon begins, and things start falling apart a little bit. Should be fun!
> 
> Also, I feel the need to note that James was out a lot this chapter. Sometimes, that just happens with DID; a certain alter will stay in front for long periods of time, even if someone else is switching in or co-con with them.
> 
> In regards to Harry himself, remember that whether he remembers the abuse or not, he is a trauma survivor, and he can be very, very bitter at times.


	26. End of Book 1

He wakes up with his head pounding.

"Hello, Harry," someone says, and he wants to claw off his ears, but his limbs are too heavy to move. Slowly, he cracks upon his eyes and automatically shuts them again. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the ache in his lungs, he tries again. After a moment, his eyes adjust to the light and he realizes that it's Dumbledore sitting at the edge of his bed. He feels a rush of panic. He can't fake anything right now! Thankfully, that doesn't seem to be what Dumbledore's concerned with.

"Well done, dear boy. Well done."

Harry tries to nod, feels a sharp pain shoot through his head, and reconsiders it. "The Stone?" he manages to ask.

"Ah yes. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. It seemed that you did very well to prevent that. By the time that I arrived, he was no longer a threat. The effort involved nearly killed you, however. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"What happened to your friend? Nicholas Flamel?" Harry asks, feeling a vague sense of guilt. After all, if he hadn't tried to chase after the Stone, it's unlikely that Quirrell would have been able to remove it from the mirror. And it sounds like Dumbledore arrived soon after Harry had fainted, so surely he would have been able to take on Voldemort's weakened state! Harry never should have tried to interfere.

Dumbledore's voice breaks through Harry's thoughts, though the man seems to be mid speech: "… agreed it's all for the best."

"So he's going to die."

"He and Perenelle have enough Elixer stored to set their affairs in order and then yes, they will die. It's not such a bad thing, really. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure…"

Harry tunes the man out again. He really can't be bothered to care at the moment. When there seems to be a period of silence, he asks, "And Voldemort? Is he really gone?"

"No, Harry, he is not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed."

"Why did he want to kill me?" Harry finds himself asking. Interrupting, really. How rude of him. He still doesn't care.

"You were in his way, dear boy!" Dumbledore exclaims. Harry's sure that it must be more complex than that, but Dumbledore is changing the subject. "Surely, you must be curious why he was unable to do so?"

He isn't. He knows exactly why Voldemort couldn't kill him; it's a little hard to kill someone when you've been "killed" first. But he's curious to know what Dumbledore thinks happened, so he moves his head in a vague semblance of a nod.

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark—" For a moment, Harry feels sick. His mother couldn't have been the only person to sacrifice herself for her child during the war. So where are all these other Voldemort-immune children? Why did none of them defeat the Dark Lord? Dumbledore, he realizes, must be flat out lying. And he's not done yet. "—It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Harry wants to laugh, but he's sure that it would hurt badly even if he knew better than to do so. Instead, he examines the brightly colored objects surrounding his bed in what must be the hospital wing.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore beams. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

Harry makes note of the fact that he neglects to mention Draco. He's too tired to bring it up, though. Perhaps later.

XXXXX

Harry's barely gotten settled to life outside of the hospital again when Dumbledore calls him to his office. He supposes that the headmaster hadn't wanted to say anything too upsetting before and wonders what he's in store for now. At least now that he's not so out of it, James and Potter have rejoined him, furious as they might be that he blocked them during the actual fight.

"Come in," Dumbledore instructs, and they again sit before the headmaster. "And who am I talking to?" Dumbledore asks. Harry wonders why he didn't ask that before. Perhaps he assumed (correctly, Harry grudgingly admits) that Harry would want to take the fight for himself? Or maybe he thought that only Harry would have been able to use "the power of love" or whatnot against Voldemort. But how could he have known that Harry would be there when they woke up?

"James," the alter quickly intervenes, grinning cheekily.

"Marvelous to see you again, dear boy! May I ask how everyone is adjusting?"

"Pretty good," James says nonchalantly, leaning back in the chair.

"Good!" Dumbledore exclaims, eyes twinkling. "I knew that you all had it in you! I was so pleased when I saw that you had once again defeated Voldemort."

"It was no problem, really," James shrugs, though Harry can feel the flash of annoyance that accompanies those words. He mentally apologizes, but Dumbledore laughs.

"No, I suppose that for you all, it wasn't!" But then he sobers a bit. "If you there are any problems in the future, I would like to ask that you come to me. I'm truly sorry that I was not there to protect you—yes, I am well aware that my help was not required! But it concerns me, how much you must have had to struggle with on your own. I am very happy that you have Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger with you, but I'm not sure that you can trust them with everything you must face; not everyone had to grow up so quickly, after all, and while I have complete faith in their character, I do not believe that they would be capable of handling some of your truths."

"They know that we have DID," James bites out without thinking in an effort to defend his friends. Potter silently groans.

"Really now!" Dumbledore says in wonder. "And how are they handling this?"

"Pretty good. I mean, yeah, they were a bit confused at first, but you know how Hermione is. I think she must have done more research than we have, at this point! Ron, well. Eh, he'll catch on."

"Well then! This is wonderful news! I can only hope that they continue to react so well."

Appeased, James smiles again and allows himself to engage in friendly chit chat for another few minutes. Even Potter looks relatively relaxed.

As even Ron has voiced concern that Dumbledore had allowed the trio to risk their lives stopping Voldemort, Harry isn't convinced that he should let his guard down just yet. Perhaps the man had gone out of his way to help them- sending Harry his father's invisibility cloak, showing him the mirror of Erised, and ensuring that he had enough magical knowledge before the fight- but it's yet another incidence of him letting Harry wander into danger, and he can't say that he likes how that feels.

And then Dumbledore is letting them go because they all need to go prepare for the end of year feast.

XXXXX

Potter can't help but smile as he looks around at the green and silver decorated great hall. He's not sure that he personally contributed much to Slytherin winning the house cup, but he feels proud nonetheless. It's a bit annoying how everyone keeps staring at him, but he assumes that that's what happens when one returns from spending a few days in the hospital. Well, that, and the rumors that must be spreading.

Thankfully, Dumbledore arrives before Potter can feel too awkward. He gives a quick speech and begins to discuss the house points. Potter winces when he says that Gryffindor is in last place, though his classmates are jeering. He feels sympathetic for Hufflepuff, as well, and claps politely for Ravenclaw. A few upperclassmen give him a strange look, but then his table is exploding with joy as Slytherin is named the winner. Potter claps harder then, still too composed to cheer, allowing himself to exchange a few words about how great this is with Draco, who looks ecstatic. This would be the seventh year in a row that Slytherin won, wouldn't it? Potter feels a bit bad for the other houses, and he knows that they probably assume that Slytherin was cheating somehow, but he's sure it was a well earned victory.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin," Dumbledore somehow says above the noise. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The entire great hall freezes. Potter feels a sudden chill. What's going on?

And then Dumbledore is giving out more points to Gryffindor. Fifty house points for Ron's game of chess, and they're past Hufflepuff. Once the cheering dies down, another fifty are awarded to Hermione for her brilliant logical display, and fifteen are given to Neville for apparently standing up to Ron and Hermione in an effort to protect them and the house. Gryffindor has passed Ravenclaw.

Potter dully notes that he and the others are awarded sixty points for their effort, but that doesn't change Slytherin's standing, so it hardly matters. He chances a glance at the Ravenclaw table; they're understandably bitter. If he listens, he can hear a few people muttering that he should have been in Gryffindor so that maybe Slytherin could finally be beaten. He does understand the sentiment, but he's a bit amazed that Dumbledore's distributing points this late in the game anyway. Was it really fair to bump Gryffindor so much after already telling the other houses what their placement would have been?

"What's wrong, Potter?" Malfoy asks, side eying him. Potter can only look at him open mouthed, shocked that Draco actually paid enough attention to realize that he wasn't as happy as the others were. Maybe that's because he's the "hero" of the evening. Potter gives him a small smile and hopes that that will be enough for him.

 _If nothing else_ , he thinks as he settles down to eat,  _at least James won't have the satisfaction of his house having won!_

XXXXX

Before they know it, they're home. And they finally appreciate how much of a blessing it is that the Dursleys don't realize they're not allowed to use magic outside of school. This will be a long summer…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finish the first book!


	27. Beginning of Book 2

He doesn't want to get out of bed. After having spent an entire school year at Hogwarts, being "graciously gifted" with a bed at the Dursley's house was not something that made him happy. In fact, it made him downright furious. For years, his only bed had been a worn out mattress resting directly on the ground and a moth eaten blanket. The pillow had been nearly rock hard, and falling asleep had always been difficult. But he had never complained. He had never known better. He hadn't felt like he had  _deserved_ better. But now the Dursley's have been forced by their fear of magic to accommodate this basic need, and the knowledge of just how much they neglected him before destroys him inside.

Of course, even now, they're not exactly welcoming. They don't dare to touch him, but he's very clearly an outsider in the family. He doesn't eat with them during meals. He cooks for them, and he must then sneak what little food that he can because they refuse to waste any on him. He's magical, they say. A freak. Surely he can conjure his own food!

Harry's never been so thankful for Lily in his life. There's no doubt in his mind that if she didn't have the magical skill that she does, he would have starved to death long ago. As it is, they're managing to get by. Now that he's not at Hogwarts, any idea of having more than the bare minimum has faded away. He does what he needs to do to survive. As much as he hates his relatives for it, he will be reduced to nothing more than wallpaper, a servant when they call and a hidden freak when they don't, and he will never say a word.

And hidden freak he currently is. If he leaves the room for any reason, he knows that his uncle's already frayed temper will snap. They have dinner guests over, and Harry is to remain silent, out of sight and out of mind. That's fine with him. He has no desire to be introduced as their disturbed nephew. But it doesn't matter because he's tired, a bone deep sort of tired that makes him wonder if he's getting enough food even with his magic pilfering, and he has nothing worth getting up for anyway. He's watched Harrison read and reread all of last year's text books (Vernon tried to lock them up with all his other school materials, but the resulting melt down was enough to terrify him into submission), and he's not sure that they should waste any energy on magic at the moment. He's not technically supposed to be doing any magic at all, but as it's all wandless, and he has no choice when it comes to feeding himself, he can't quite care. He even has no one to talk to; the others are silent inside. If things get any worse, he knows that he'll switch with Freak and that will be the end of it. He may not wake up for weeks, this time. It doesn't matter. They'll do whatever it takes.

There's a thumping noise, and Harry winces. "Please, Hedwig," he begs, "please just stay still." The Dursleys will explain it as something falling to the floor, perhaps as a pet cat locked upstairs, but he'll get hell for it later. He knows that his owl is bored, and really, he understands, but Vernon won't allow her to be let free for even an hour, so there's really nothing that he can do about it. Hedwig blames him anyway, of course- she's an owl, too stupid to understand the rules that Harry lives by- he can see it when she stares at him. It angers him more than he should. Sometimes, pictures flash through his head of strangling the bird to death. Fresh meat, right? That's usually right before he has some sort of break down, though, so it never lasts long. Potter usually switches out then and tries his best to keep the bird happy, and Lily will again wonder if she could spell the bird outside and back in without anyone noticing, and Harry just disappears as much as he can.

It doesn't help that nearly the entire summer has passed, and he hasn't heard a word from any of their friends. Ron had promised to invite Harry over to his house during the summer, Hermione had promised to do some more research and then contact Harry- Potter! No, Lily... Harrison?- with any questions that she might have, and Draco had seemed so smug about the chance to write to "Harry Potter!" that Harry almost wonders if the silence is because one or all of them are now dead. James, however, is convinced that everyone hates them, and he's becoming so bitterly nasty that not even Lily can stand him. Of course, Petal is ecstatic. She isn't even restricting food for once, but then, that's easily explained by the fact that there's no food to restrict in the first place!

And of course today is his birthday. Of bloody course. He's survived almost 12 years in this hell. Lucky him.

He's dropping back off to sleep when he's met with a loud "pop!" sound. Blearily, he opens his eyes and orientates himself, but it takes him another minute to be certain that he's not dreaming. In front of him stands a small creature with large, bat like ears and bulging green eyes. As Harry stares, it bows so low that its long, thin nose almost touches the carpet. Harry notices that it's wearing what could almost be described as a pillow case with holes for his arms and legs to go through.

"Harry Potter!" it exclaims with a voice so high in pitch that Harry winces. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honor it is…"

"Hello?" Potter tries, glancing anxiously over at the door and praying that the thing's voice didn't carry downstairs. "Thank you? Who are you…?" Behind him, Harry is still staring in shock, and Potter can't blame him. What he'd really like to ask is  _what_  this thing is, but he supposes that that might be a bit rude.

"Dobby, sir," the thing answers. "Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf."

"Well, hello, Dobby." Potter glances again at the door. "I hate to be rude, but this may not be the best time for us to talk. I'm very pleased to meet you," he quickly adds as the house elf sadly hangs it head, "but… well, why are you actually here?"

"Dobby has come to tell you, sir… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…"

Potter sighs. He can feel a migraine building, and he wishes that he had more patience. Thankfully, Lily joins him and prods him to ask, "would you like to take a seat, Dobby?"

" _S-sit down!"_  Dobby wails, " _Never… never ever…"_

It's crying very loudly. Horrified, Lily casts a silencing charm on the room. "S-sory," she stutters, "I'm so sorry, I didn't meant to offend you…"

"Offend Dobby!" the elf manages to choke, "Dobby has  _never_ been asked to sit down by a wizard—like an  _equal_ —"

"That's horrible," Lily exclaims. The elf just continues to sob, though it looks at her with such gratitude that she wriggles nervously on their bed. "I mean, really," she continues, "The wizards you've met—they can't be very good people, not if they don't even let you sit down!"

Dobby shakes his head. Then, without warning, he leaps up and starts banging his head on the window, shouting, " _Bad_ Dobby!"

Potter quickly regains control of the body. Lily is terrified, and Harry is starting to fade into the shadows of their mind. "Please stop!" He hates the sudden panic in his voice. "Dobby, what the hell do you think that you're doing?!" He wrestles the thing back onto his bed and grips it's arm tightly, fear coursing through his body.  _Vernon can't hear us_ , he reminds himself again and again, but the terror doesn't ebb.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," says the elf. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir."

Lily gasps and is gone. Harry's suddenly more dominant again, anger clouding their mind. "Your family?" Potter manages to ask through gritted teeth.

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir… Dobby is a house-elf—bound to serve one house and one family forever."

"Then they're not your family!"

Dobby jumps, startled by the venom in Potter's voice. Potter takes a deep breath before continuing, but his voice is still shaking. "If someone… if  _anyone_  is that cruel to you… doesn't treat you like an equal, doesn't even show you common courtesy, asks you to punish yourself for daring to hint that they're doing something wrong… that is NOT a family! That's a bunch of low life…" He has to stop. He refuses to cry in front of this over sized Muppet.

Fearfully, the house elf says, "Dobby has no choice, sir. The family will never set Dobby free… Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir."

Potter has to sit down and rest his head on his knees. He wants to throw up. Somehow, it had never occurred to him before that he wasn't the only one suffering like this. Logically, of course, he had known that others had situations even worse than his own. The Dursleys never hesitated to remind him that he was lucky. He had a roof over his head, clothes on his back, and food in his stomach. They beat him, but not so badly that he might die. And at least they didn't—

But to actually see that others are trapped like he is… some part of him is furious that anyone should have to suffer like he does, and the intensity of his emotions scare him. He's never felt this overwhelming rage on his behalf. He considers himself below the others, somehow deserving of what comes to him. Even now, he hates himself for daring to think of himself, have pity on himself, when obviously this poor creature is so much worse off.

"Can I help?" Potter asks desperately, forcing himself to meet Dobby's eyes. But the elf just resumes crying.

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…"

Potter doesn't feel great or good. He feels like he's about to be sick. He closes his eyes tightly, and when he reopens them, he finds the elf staring at him intently.

"Harry Potter is valiant and bold! That is why Dobby is here to protect Harry Potter, to warn him…  _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts._ "

The silence stretches on for what feels like minutes before Potter remembers that he needs to respond. "No."

"No, no, no," squeaks Dobby, "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

 _I'm in danger here,_ Potter thinks, but he only asks, "Why?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," Dobby whispers as he begins to tremble. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"Aren't I always in danger, somehow or another?" Harry snaps, hands shaking. He can't lose Hogwarts. He can't! His thoughts swirl and crash, and Potter is too weak to be able to help him now. So Harry continues, "Voldemort, he's always going to be after me, isn't he?"

Dobby's head inches towards the wall, and Harry gives a groan that's half hysterical laughter. "Alright then, you don't have to answer that!"

Dobby shakes his head. With great determination, he says, "Not—not  _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,_  sir—" He seems to be trying to convey something to Harry, and Harry knows that it must be far more complicated than that, but he's suddenly light headed and dizzy and all he wants is for this to be over.

"Then I really don't care. I'm sorry Dobby, but I'm sure that Dumbledore will protect us." He really isn't sure at all, but who cares? "I am going back to Hogwarts, and you're not stopping me. It's the only place where anyone really cares about me."

"Then why does no one write to Harry Potter?" Dobby asks.

"How do you… know… that…" Potter slams into front as Harry jumps to his feet, more bloody images dancing through his head. The house elf looks mildly terrified, though still determined.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best—"

"You've been stopping our letters." Potter manages to spit the words like venom, not even catching the pronoun slip. Dobby doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy pulling the letters out of his pillowcase clothing.

"Dobby has them here, sir. Dobby hoped… if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him… Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir…"

"Give me the letters," Potter whispers as his vision goes black around the edges. Now Angry is behind him, and he hears Harry reflect dryly that he hasn't switched so much in months. Angry has been repressed all summer to avoid an incident, though, so this really shouldn't come as a surprise now.

Dobby doesn't seem to know what to think, but he is incredibly stubborn. "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face. Say you won't go back, sir!"

Without answering, Angry lunges forwards. Squealing, the house elf darts to the bedroom door, pulls it open, and sprints downstairs. Angry follows, and it's all that Potter can do to stop him from making too much noise. They follow Dobby into the kitchen, and Potter's stomach drops. Petunia's pudding, the evening dessert that she worked so hard on, is rising into the air and floating towards the dinner guests.

"Please," Potter begs, throat suddenly dry. "Dobby, please. If you care at all, you can't do this. They're more dangerous than any wizard, you don't understand, please!"

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school—"

"Alright! Alright, Dobby, fine! I won't return, I'll—"

Dobby gives him a tragic look. "Harry Potter is lying. Dobby must do this, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

And the pudding crashes to the floor and shatters. Cream splatters the windows, walls, and, Potter faintly notes, the guests. Dobby vanishes with a crack, but the guests won't hear it over their own screaming. Vernon slowly stands up and advances. Petunia is trying to explain everything to the guests, talking in a trembling voice about how strangers upset him, he's so terribly disturbed, that's why he was locked upstairs…

Bruises stares in terror, but Vernon shakes his head, a snarl on his lips. "I will flay you within an inch of your life, boy. Clean up!" Bruises does as he's told. Every noise makes him flinch and jump, but relief settles over Harry. This is nothing new. They're going to be fine.

Then the owl arrives.

As Vernon reads that using magic outside of school could get Harry expelled ( _and why are they just now bothering to care?_ Harry wonders. W _hy are they only noticing when the spell cast wasn't even his own but Dobby's levitation charm?_ ), a crazed glint enters his eyes. His guests have left in a panic. His deal was ruined.

"Boy," he laughs cruelly, "you will regret this…"

 


	28. Chapter 28

It's been days. Harry's not quite sure how many. Potter insists that it was only three or four, but everything blurs together, and Harry wonders if Potter just thinks that because they've received enough meals that if it had been four days, they could almost pretend it's strange that they're starving. At least they really are being fed now; Lily's terrified to use magic. They're given their meals through a cat flap in the door. Their window is bared. Harry's mildly surprised that they're even released enough to use the restroom. Actually, maybe that's how Potter's measuring time. Surely they're allowed to leave their room at least twice a day?

It doesn't help that they have to somehow keep Hedwig fed as well. She's not happy with what he has to offer, but it's not like he has any other choice. It's almost too bad that his room isn't mice infested. Then at least one of them would be happy.

He's lying on his bed, too tired to do anything else, not that there's anything else to do. If starvation doesn't set in, boredom will get to him first. At least he didn't have to deal with what he thinks may have been the first day and a half of captivity. Bruises and Boy took that for them. Bruises and Boy have taken a lot of the last few days, Harry thinks as shifting positions shoots pain throughout his body.

At the edge of his conscience is an annoying rattling sound. Like someone is grabbing at the bars on his window, almost. At first, Harry tries to ignore it. Then he wonders if, now that Dobby's satisfied, he could have possibly let one of his letters get through? Reluctantly, he drags himself to a sitting position and forces his eyes to focus.

 _James,_ he whispers inside. Then more forcefully,  _James!_  Their communication isn't always the best in the world, but this time, it seems to work, and James is dragged up into awareness.

 _What do you…_  James notices what Harry's looking at, and his whole face lights up.

"Ron!"

For a moment, Ron just stares. He's in some sort of flying car, and the twins are with them. They seem more than a bit put off by the bars on Harry's window, but after a moment, Ron shrugs it off.

"What's been going on?" he asks. "Why have you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles—"

"I did nothing of the sort!" James protests, "some bloody house elf apparently took offense that we—er,  _I_ —wanted to return to Hogwarts because of danger, or something, and he stopped all my letters and dropped a pudding on someone's head!"

"Whoa!" Ron exclaims. "Anyway, we're going to get you out of there, okay? Hang on!"

He throws James a rope, and the alter quickly ties it around the bars and stands back, somehow ignoring pain that would have Harry collapsed on the floor by now. The car pulls forwards, and off pop the bars.

"I'll need my school stuff," he says as the car pulls back up to his window, "it's all locked in the cupboard."

"No problem!" George says. Within minutes, he's climbed into the Dursley's house, picked the lock on both the bedroom door and the cupboard itself, and retrieved Harry's things for them. James quickly hands everything over to Ron and then climbs into the car after George. Almost immediately, he opens Hedwig's cage and lets the poor bird fly free behind them. Tonight, they're all free!

"So," Fred says from the driver's seat, "what's this about house elves?" James quickly explains the story to them, leaving out Potter's overreaction, and waits.

"It sounds like someone's idea of a joke to me. House-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

James snorts. "Too many to name."

The conversation turns to casual chat, and they arrive at the Burrow around morning to find a very angry Mrs. Weasley waiting for them.

XXXXX

By the time that breakfast is served, Mrs. Weasley has  _mostly_  finished griping. James doesn't care. Even if he's able to ignore their sore muscles and pounding head, he hates how absolutely empty their stomach feels. How Petal can want this, he hasn't the slightest idea.

His thoughts don't linger for long, though. The Burrow is a nice place housing a great family. He feels safe here, far more so than he ever did with the Dursleys. Maybe he shouldn't be thinking that, though. Sure, it was harsh, but it couldn't have been  _too_  bad. They didn't feed him well, but he doesn't see why Potter's so upset about everything else. I mean, heck, Potter was nearly blinded with rage when the bars were put on their windows, but if Ron didn't say anything, it can't be that bad, right? Potter's just a pansy.

When breakfast ends, James has a lot of fun trying to throw the gnomes over the hedge. His competitive nature quickly kicks in, and it's a fun game for him. Inside, Potter's sleeping, and Harry's only barely aware of himself. James supposes that that's fair enough; after all, it wasn't like he cared to come out much while they were locked up- too boring- so it makes sense that they're more worn out than he is. Still, they're missing out! They don't even get to meet Mr. Weasley.

A few days pass, and though it tires him, James stays out as much as he can. He's decided that he wants a house like this, one day. There are weird things going on everywhere, but the entire family seems so close. Not only that, but they seem to like  _him_  being a part of the family, too! As much as he enjoys Hogwarts, he almost wishes that he would never have to leave. He's gotten a letter from Hermione, too, after Ron wrote her that they were going to rescue him (the letter came about a week later than would have been expected, and James decides that he's grateful that Hedwig is still a younger owl), but Draco still doesn't know where he is, so he doesn't even have to worry about that! Everything is perfect.

Speaking of Hermione, they're going to meet up with her at Diagon Alley to get school supplies. Grudgingly, James hands back over the front. He can spend more time with the Weasleys later. Besides, this whole floo powder business seems a bit funny to him, so he'll let Potter take the blame if something goes wrong.

 _Oh, thanks for that,_  Potter notes drily. He takes a pinch of floo powder and a deep breath, walks up to the chimney, scatters the powder in the flames, and steps in. Opening his mouth to speak rewards him with a lot of hot ash. "Diagon Alley," he manages to choke, but even as the words come out, he knows that he hasn't spoken clearly. And then he's spinning through space, and he has to close his eyes to avoid getting sick.

He falls onto cold stone and feels his glasses snap.  _Shit._

Picking himself up reveals that he's alone in some sort of shadowy shop, but the items on sale are nothing that Potter would have considered buying. He can see a withered hand, a blood stained pack of cards, a staring glass eye. Evil looking masks stare down from the walls, and he's pretty sure the bones on the counter are human. Even as something inside him is drawn to the idea of looking around, he knows that he needs to leave as soon as possible. The street outside isn't Diagon Alley, but maybe if he walks far enough he'll find a familiar land mark.

He walks quickly. This area is giving him a bad feeling. Everything here seems to be devoted to the Dark Arts. He can feels eyes on him, doubtless wondering what a kid like himself is doing wandering around without a guardian. At least, he hopes that they can't see his scar or otherwise recognize him.

"Harry!" he hears someone call, and he nearly jumps out of skin. A moment later, he hears unfamiliar muttering…

"Merlin Harry, where have you been?" Someone demands in annoyance. Potter turns around in relief. It's just Draco, accompanied by his father. Distantly, he wonders what they're doing here, and he can see the same question on Draco's face. He's not sure how to answer either question.

"I've never used floo powder before," he finally lamely explains, wincing at the shock on Mr. Malfoy's face. "After my parents… well, I've been living with Muggle relatives. They're absolutely  _awful_. They wouldn't let in your owl, Draco, and they wouldn't even let Hedwig out of her cage."

He hopes that this was the right thing to say. He hates knowing that he's only reinforcing Draco's hatred of non-wizards, but he knows that he needs to distract him from the fact that he came here with the Weasleys. If he wants any chance at all of remaining accepted by the Slytherins, he can't have Draco's father forbidding his son from having anything to do with him. Honestly, he's surprised that they're allowed to talk at all, considering the rumors that the Malfoys were devoted followers to the same Dark Lord that he's now killed twice.

Draco, at least, seems to have bought his distraction. Or maybe he can just see how much weight they've lost, Potter realizes in a rush of self consciousness, pulling their robes tighter around his body though even his bony wrists show signs of malnutrition.

"That's horrible!" Draco fumes, and he's still fuming when they reach the book store.

"Harry!" another voice calls, female this time. Goodness, he seems to be popular today. Potter looks up to find Hermione running towards them. Draco glares and takes a step in front of him.

"Mudblood," he spits. His father glares at him for his public rudeness, but Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Oh, come on!" she exclaims, "the Weasleys are this way, we've all been looking frantically for you. We weren't sure where you'd ended up…"

Potter's aware of Mr. Malfoy's cold stare on his back as he allows Hermione to drag him away.

"I'll see you at Hogwarts," he calls apologetically back to Draco, "and if you can write me now, I'll make sure to reply immediately!"

"Right," Draco snorts bitterly, "if that old bird of the Weasleys doesn't die on the way!" But he allows Potter to disappear into the crowd

XXXXX

After a bit of fuss from the panicked Weasley gang, they all break up to do a bit of shopping on their own. They reconvene at the book store. Potter hopes that the Malfoys have already left, but he doesn't think that it would be a problem, anyway. How much trouble could anyone really get into in such a public place? Besides, the place is packed to the brim with people, so it would be hard to pick apart anyone in this crowd. He soon realizes the cause of this; Gilderoy Lockhart, the man behind most of their school book list, is there to sign copies of his autobiography. When Potter notices how much of the crowd is made up of older witches, he can't help but snicker. Hermione seems excited, as well, but he figures that she's just delighted to meet another wizard so knowledgeable about anything related to magic. She still doesn't seem as excited to meet Lockhart as Mrs. Weasley does, and Potter notices Ron grimacing.

Then Lockhart notices  _him_ , and it all dissolves into chaos.

After countless pictures are taken and Potter's been presented with a free set of books, Lockhart finally announces that he'll be his teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts and sets him free. Potter gets away as quickly as he can. Something about Lockhart seems off, to him, and he hates the way that the man felt the need to keep putting his arm around his shoulders.

"Potter!" It's Draco again. It takes Potter a moment to remember that the use of his last name is because they're in public, not because Draco somehow recognized him, and he forces himself to resume breathing.

"Leave him alone!" Ginny says, and Potter realizes that this is the first time that he's seen her speak.

"Potter, you've got yourself a  _girlfriend,_ " Malfoy drawls, but Potter notices the anger crossing his face.

"For God's sake Malfoy!" he says before he can stop himself. Draco looks hurt, but Potter's never been fond of overly jealous people.

"Oh, it's you," says Ron, and Potter groans and hands Ginny his books, telling her that he'll buy his own later. She needs the free books more than he does, and he wants to be able to break up the fight if that's what this comes down to. To his intense displeasure, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy quickly join the small group. This is going to be a real mess.

Thankfully, the fight doesn't last long, though when Mr. Malfoy actually picks up one of Ginny's old school books, Potter's afraid someone's going to resort to violence. He glares at his classmate as he leaves, but Draco doesn't even have the sense to look sheepish. This might be a very long year…


	29. Chapter 29

James gives the wall one last frustrated kick before following Ron outside. He doesn't understand why the barrier is closed off, but it's preventing him from accessing the train, and he'll be damned if that stops him from getting to Hogwarts! Surely taking the flying car to school can't be that bad an option, right? Really, it's just a car. Flying or not, cars are pretty safe. It's not like they'll have to worry about traffic in the air, or anything. And they can just follow the train so that they don't get lost! Brilliant. No big deal at all.

 _You're an idiot!_ James hears Potter's panicked voice.  _You're going to get us all killed! Oh my god! Just because Ron_ thinks  _that he can drive a bloody flying car doesn't mean that he actually can! He wouldn't even be allowed to drive a regular car at his age! And what if we're seen?!_

 _Oh calm down,_ James mutters, rolling his eyes,  _everything's going to be fine._

Indeed, they get up into the air and above the clouds without a problem. There's a quick scare with the invisibility mechanism, and then they almost get hit by a train, and the car does get perilously close to running out of gas, and they do almost get mauled by a giant tree, but hey, no harm no foul, right? Even when it's all over, they don't get punished or anything! Sure, Ron did break his wand. Big deal. James is fine, and that's all that matters. No one really got into trouble, even if Ron does receive a Howler and they both got a detention. The only one who really cares is Potter, and who cares what he thinks?

XXXXX

Potter's positively seething as he makes his way to Lockhart's room for his detention. Of course he's the one being punished for James's stupidity. Of course. No wonder the alter's so badly behaved; he never takes responsibility for anything! And it's not like Potter could just shove out one of the others, either. That would be beyond rude. At least the others do seem rather happy. Hogwarts, no matter how they arrive, is infinitely better than living with the Dursleys, and now that there are less watchful eyes on them (Mrs. Weasley, lovely woman as she is, watches them a little too closely, and it makes everyone nervous), everyone can begin to return to their previous activities. Already, Lily's enjoying Herbology. They're preparing Mandrakes, apparently. Though the screaming makes Potter feel sick even with the earmuffs, as long as Lily's happy, he's not inclined to complain. This, however…

He recalls this morning's class with a grimace. Instead of beginning the course with anything remotely useful, Lockhart had given them a quiz… about  _himself_. Potter's never met a more self absorbed man in his life! What makes it even worse is that Lockhart seems to be assuming that they're the same way. It's simultaneously the funniest and most annoying thing that Potter's ever witnessed. If he could never have a drop of attention again, he would be happy. He's had too much negative attention to not distrust the positive, and actively seeking for others to look at him? It sounds absurd!

As if further proving his insanity, Lockhart had then proceeded to release a cage full of Cornish pixies on the class. Thank God for Hermione and Lily, or the little menaces would still be nesting in people's hair and hiding things where no one could get to them! It's not like Lockhart himself was any help. He's a coward, Potter's already sure. How he managed to defeat much of anything, let alone terrifying monsters, is anyone's guess, and Potter's betting that things didn't happen nearly as smoothly as his books claimed that they did.

Shaking his head, Potter knocks on the classroom door and waits for Lockhart to acknowledge him. It doesn't take long. Almost at once, the door flies open.

"Ah, here's the scalwag! Come in, Harry, come in—" And he ushers Potter inside. Potter has to fight himself to sit down at the man's desk and remain still. All that he has to do is address envelopes to Lockhart's admirers. That's it. It's not a hard task. Yes, the man touched him while getting him into the room. That doesn't mean anything. He's not about to be attacked. He does not need to switch. He cannot afford to switch! Lockhart's looking at him funny, oh god, he's noticed that something is wrong…

He wakes up alone in the hallway. For a moment, all that Potter can register is surprise. Blacking out is unusual for him. It's strange for any of them, really, and a quick check inside reveals that not even Harry knows what just happened. It makes him very, very uneasy. On the other hand, every time that they have lost time, it's been because of switching while under a high amount of stress. All things considered, Potter realizes that he can't be too surprised, not by—and then his attention is diverted by a voice.

_"Come… come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"_

Potter's jaw nearly hits the floor.

 _… oh,_ _ **God**_ _,_ Harry breathes. Is that why they lost time? Is this voice signs of someone new, someone uncontrollable? Is this who James was hearing before? No, it can't be. This blood lust sounds stronger than anything James had ever experienced. And how strong must an alter be to have caused such a complete system black out?

 _It doesn't even sound like they're inside!_  James says, finally worried by something.  _Are you sure that we're not just insane? Or that one of us isn't, at least, and somehow affecting the others?_ Potter doesn't miss the direction that James glances in, and he returns the glare full force.

 _Some alters can project their voices outside. I swear that I read that somewhere. Or maybe it was something that Hermione asked about? Anyway, we'll just have to keep our guard up. It seems to have quieted, anyway._ Potter avoids pointing out that the voice very clearly seemed to be originating from the walls. He knows enough by now to be sure that any voice that he can hear and others can't—and others must not be able to hear this, because it's fairly loud and they're still close enough to Lockhart's room that he surely would have joined them otherwise—must be an alter. What else could it be, really?

Shaken, they return to their dorm in silence.

XXXXX

Thankfully, the next few weeks seem normal enough. Despite the general strangeness of Lockhart, everything else seems to be going well. Lily, at least, is exceptionally happy. She's beginning to look forward more to Herbology than even to Charms, and Potter thinks that he's worked out why. Though not much can be said while the ear muffs are on, Lily and Blaise have taken to talking when they get the chance. Lily's too nervous to approach him outside of class, and Blaise seems to respect that, but it's obvious that they both enjoy their conversations when they can have them. Unfortunately for Lily, Potter isn't the only one who's noticed. James seems to have picked up on her crush as well, though Lily adamantly denies that that's what it is. Potter thinks that it's rather sweet, though he does wish that James would stop his mumbling about how "we  _are_  in a boy's body, though, so Blaise better not return her feelings. Merlin, if he's one of those people…" It makes Potter want to break his face, though for obvious reasons, that's not exactly possible. James is insistent that he has nothing against homosexuals, he's just a bit weary of Blaise being one, but that does nothing to soothe Potter's irritation. At the moment, they're not exactly on speaking terms, but that's typical enough that it doesn't much matter.

Besides, James won't be able to stay irritated much longer. The first Quidditch match is approaching. Again, he's pitted against Gryffindor, but he's looking forwards to it regardless. Sure, the constant griping between the two houses gets irritating, especially when he's forced to appear to agree with Slytherin—he hasn't yet found a way to publically defend his preferred house without Draco sulking for at least half a week—but all that matters to him is that he gets to fly again. He missed the final Quidditch match last year due to the whole Voldemort fiasco, and he had no chances to fly over the summer, so he's very eager to take to the air again. As well, perhaps he's just slightly eager to show off, even if it is the people that he wishes were his classmates who he's going to be defeating.

And then Draco gets made the team's chaser because his father has money, and James falls into such a mood that  _everyone_  finds it best to ignore him. The result of this is that James is allowed to front less, making "Harry Potter" suddenly begin to seem a lot more Slytherin. Draco, of course, picks up on this, and it's not long before he's increasing his efforts to get Harry's approval. Whatever his father must have said to him before the school year began must not be having much of an effect. The system responds to his increased attention by shoving Snake out more frequently; this, of course, only serves to further irritate James.

Really, the only good things that comes out of the new system tensions are that there's now no doubt that Hermione will talk with Lily and Harrison regardless of the activities of the rest of the system and that "Harry's Slytherin Phase" is helping to distance what Ron had taken to calling their fan club. For that matter, Ron himself is avoiding them more, and Potter can't exactly say that he minds that much.

Still, everything goes more or less smoothly, and soon weeks have passed. Potter has heard from neither the voice nor James's mysterious alter, so as far as he's concerned, everything is fine.

Life disagrees with him. James finally fronts for the Quidditch match, and lo and behold, his arm is broken by a rogue Bludger! Before they know it, Lockhart's mucked up the healing even more (though it couldn't have helped that their first instinct was to hide the injury and run like crazy when Lockhart reached out to touch them), and they're in the hospital wing for the night.

It's Harry who comes to in the middle of the night. There are sharp pains all over his arm, and he's surprised that something managed to stop Bruises from being there with him. Then he realizes that the alter must have retreated when he saw something in the room that he didn't know how to deal with: Dobby.

"Bloody hell, not you again," he groans, and a single tear rolls down Dobby's face.

"Harry Potter came back to school," the elf whispers miserably, "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah, sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"

Harry pulls himself up with a sudden calm that surprises even himself. "So. You're the one who made the barrier solid?" His voice is flat and even, and Dobby backs away nervously. With sudden clarity, Harry realizes that the elf expects to be beaten. "I'm not going to hurt you," he sighs, lying back down again, "but even you must see why that's frustrating."

Dobby nods and explains his reasoning, though he still won't say what, exactly, the danger is that Harry should be avoiding. It doesn't take long for Harry to figure out that the bludger wasn't caused by this "danger" but Dobby himself, but he can barely bring himself to care at the moment. Eventually, Dobby realizes that Harry just needs to be alone for a while and so leaves. Harry tries to fall back asleep, but some 40 minutes later, he realizes that that's not going to happen. Unfortunately, with his right arm taken out of commission, there's not much that he can actually  _do_. He resigns himself to laying in the dark for who knows how long when he hears the door to the hospital wing creak open.

XXXXXX

When Potter wakes up the next morning, it doesn't occur to him to wonder why a certain memory is completely gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going somewhere with this, I promise! :P Unfortunately, there's still a bit more that I need to get through before I can reach the fun part. Just stick with me, and, hopefully, it will be worth it!


	30. Chapter 30

Ominous warnings or not, none of them have any idea how to please Dobby without leaving Hogwarts, which they refuse to do, so they decide to just forget about that strange night. There's enough going on that it's easy to ignore the dire advice of a house elf, and by the time that Halloween rolls around, they've nearly forgotten the entire incident. Of course, there may be other factors at play there, but they've always been good at ignoring things that would otherwise risk their psyche.

This, even Harry can't ignore.

He wakes up in his bed as normal, but it's late afternoon, and he's certain that he doesn't remember laying down for a nap. The problem is, he can't remember much of anything. He remembers talking with Draco about how he hoped that teachers wouldn't assign too much homework because he wants to enjoy the Great Feast this year in full. He can remember some of his classes. But then everything becomes blurred. Just as one can't recall what they were thinking of as they fell asleep, Harry hasn't the slightest idea exactly when he stopped being mentally present.  He can feel his mind trying to glide past the gap in his memory entirely, as it's done so many times before, but this is the second time this week that he's caught himself having lost time, and Harry's determined to discover what's going on.

Realizing that this is a mystery that he can't solve alone, he feels that he has no choice but to see if Ron or Hermione remember anything. There's still a good block of time before the Great Feast begins, so he has no trouble slipping out of the Slytherin Common Room without being noticed. Drawing as little attention to himself as possible, not in the mood to deal with anyone who might care to question him, he wanders down to the library, uncertain if even Hermione will be there but seeing no other choice. It's not like he can enter the Gryffindor Common Rooms, after all. Unfortunately, he has no luck. After a moment's thought, Harry decides to look outside. Ron and Hermione still visit Hagrid often- he tries to join them when gets the chance- and Ron could be down at the Quidditch pitch watching Gryffindor's team train.

This time, he's more successful. He chats with them for a few minutes before enquiring as to his activities, but neither of his friends had seen him since class. Disappointed, he decides to try Draco. Maybe the amnesia between himself and Snake is now mutual? If nothing else, perhaps Draco had seen what he was doing or where he had gone. Slightly frustrated, Harry turns and walks back to the Slytherin dorms. He waits impatiently for Draco to finish a game of Wizard Chess and then asks to speak to the boy privately. Draco seems a bit confused, but agrees. Once they're safely back in their dorms, Harry slowly begins, unsure of how exactly he needs to word this in order to avoid appearing insane.

"I was just wondering..." he begins slowly. Draco raises an eyebrow, so Harry takes a deep breath and says, "I know that this is going to sound a bit crazy. But what was I doing earlier?"

"You're right" Draco exclaims, "that does sound crazy! Merlin, Harry, what kind of a question is that? Did you bonk your head, or something?"

Harry breathes in slowly again, reminding himself that attacking classmates tends to get one into trouble. "No. I was practicing spells, I think, and I must have messed up my short term memory. I can remember everything else fine, but what I did today is a bit blurry."

He's proud of his excuse until Draco asks, "Why's it matter, then? It's just a normal school day, it's not like anything important happened... should you see the nurse? You don't look very well."

"I'm fine!" Harry insists, "I just don't like not knowing what happened."

Draco shrugs. Deciding that if Draco had noticed anything strange he wouldn't be flippant about this, Harry turns to go. Draco stops him.

"You know," he says—and  Harry can picture the suspicious yet smug look on his face without even having to turn around—"you're kind of strange sometimes."

"You're rather rude, sometimes," Harry counters, but for once, Draco doesn't rise to the bait.

"You're so moody!" Draco says, "You act so differently sometimes, it's almost like you're a different person! And what, now you can't remember things? Are you _mad_?"

"Terribly rude," Harry forces out through gritted teeth. He knows that retreating is a horrible choice, but he can't deal with Draco right now. Really, he doesn't want to deal with _anyone_ right now. No longer looking forwards to the Great Feast, Harry heads for the library to wait things out. He wishes that Potter were here with him, but for some reason, he's alone. He wonders if something's wrong, something bigger than just lost memories. His head is pounding. The sound of his own footsteps on the stone floor makes him want to scream. His breathing is coming heavily, and he wants to rip his lungs out of chest. Everything is too loud. The lights are too bright. Two older girls walk past him, chatting and laughing, and he wants to scream at them. The noise blurs in his head. None of the sounds make sense. The light is pounding into his head, pounding...

 _"Rip... tear... kill..."_ Harry barely notices that the voice has returned. Instinctively, he turns away, stumbling to hide in a corner until his head clears. He finds himself clutching his head tightly as if the pressure will knock things right.

 _Harry?_ He hears. Then, _oh!_ And then Potter is back and slowly pulling them to their feet. _What on earth happened?_

 _Don't know..._ Harry manages. Then he collapses inside to break in peace.

Potter shakes his head in bewilderment. Something's upset Harry, that much is obvious, but he's not sure what. Reviewing their memories reveals that it's a lack of certain memories that's got Harry panicking, but Potter isn't sure why that's cause to be upset. After all, Harry missed most of their childhood. Sure, it's a bit unusual to be missing time while at school, but it's possible that one of the alters is just stretching their legs, so to speak. It's a good thing that they feel safe enough to come out, isn't it?

 _"Soo hungry... for so long..."_ Potter shivers and backs away from the walls, almost certain that that's where the noise—where the alter is making him _think_ that the noise came from. Alright, perhaps some alters he would prefer not to meet. Still, there's nothing that can be done, so there's no use dwelling on it. He'll try to see if he can find a more productive way for them to express themselves later. For now, he's hungry.

"Where've you been?" Draco demands as Potter slides into the seat next to him. "I was beginning to think that you wouldn't show up!"

Potter shrugs, unsure what to say and exactly how long they were gone in the first place. "Sorry," he says lamely. Draco rolls his eyes and turns back to his dinner. Potter copies him, piling food onto their plate. The strange silence in their head does have one advantage: no Petal! He plans to take advantage of the current freedom by eating as much as he pleases.

After he's done scarfing down enough food to (hopefully) compensate for their recent lack, he searches for Ron and Hermione to signal to them that everything's fine. He doesn't know if Harry worried them earlier or not, but he does know that his core can be a little intense, and he doesn't want either of them to be wondering about what alters might be doing behind Harry's back. Finally, Ron turns and notices him. Potter meets his eyes and smiles, and Ron grins back. Well, Potter decides, even if Ron doesn't understand and thinks that it's just James being social, at least he doesn't seem worried. Potter glances idly around the room. Without thinking, he looks up at the front of the Great Hall where the teachers sit. He's looking down the row when Lockhart glances up.

"Are you alright?" Draco asks. This time, there's genuine worry in is voice. "Maybe you really should see the nurse.

"I'm fine," Potter rasps. He quickly stands up, muttering as he stumbles away: "I think I ate too fast. See you later." Without looking to see how Draco's taking it, he darts out of the hall. He doesn't make it much farther before he has to stop and lean against the wall for support, stomach heaving. What the hell?

 _"…kill… time to kill…"_ Potter's eyes shoot open. Oh, not this again! Suddenly furious, convinced that this new alter is the cause of all of the strange events lately, Potter shoots off in the direction that the voice seems to be coming from. He doesn't know what he's aiming for. It's just an alter. They don't have a body of their own. He won't find anything. But the idea that he's possibly doing something productive fuels him, so does it really matter?

It doesn't take long for him to lose track of where, exactly, he thought that the voice had come from. It hasn't spoken again, at least. Suddenly tired, Potter leans back against a wall. What a day. Well, he might as well return to get dessert. Now that whoever that was is gone, things should be fine again—for the moment, at least.

He's distracted, so he almost doesn't notice it. It's not until he steps in something wet, some kind of puddle, that he bothers to look up. When he does, he almost slips as he quickly hurries backwards. In front of him, hanging off of one of the torch brackets by her tail, is Mrs. Norris. For a moment, that's all that he can see. But then his eyes are drawn behind her, to the walls. It takes a minute for his mind to truly comprehend the words written there in a thick, dulled red liquid.

"THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE."

He's not sure how long he stands there in shock, but eventually, other students, released from their dinner, join him. Distantly, he registers people shrieking, and he thinks that he hears Draco laughing about something, but it's hard for him to process anything past the terror. They didn't… they didn't do this, did they? Is this what happened when they blacked out?

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Filch works his way through the crowd, glaring nastily at everyone in his way. Then he notices his cat and starts screaming at Potter. Finally, Potter focuses.

Apparently, Harry deems the situation worthy of response. Potter's not even sure when Harry returned, but before he can intervene, Harry's already scowling, boldly declaring, "I didn't kill your bloody cat. That would require caring about her enough to hate her, and frankly, I have better things to be doing with my time."

 _Harry!_ Potter panics as the crowd around them alights with whispers. _I swear, sometimes you're as bad as James!_

Potter leaps back quickly to avoid Filch grabbing and attempting to murder him. Thankfully, Dumbledore chooses that moment to push his way through the crowd. Honestly, Potter's surprised that even he's able to calm Filch, but he's thankful enough to not care. At the headmaster's command, he reluctantly follows both back into the nearest classroom—Lockhart's, he notes. Lockhart himself has accompanied them, along with McGonagall and Snape. Lockhart practically dances around the room as he theorizes about what could have killed Mrs. Norris, but Dumbledore quickly puts a stop to that.

"She is not dead, Argus," he informs a shocked Filch.

"Not dead?" the man manages to choke. "But why's she all—all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified. How, I cannot say, but such a thing would require Dark Magic far beyond the level of a second year. Harry Potter did not do this."

Potter sighs in relief. Snape notices this and turns towards him, and he cringes.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," says Snape, eyeing him suspiciously, "Potter may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"

Potter stares at the ground for a long time, but when the accusations resume, he squeezes his eyes shut and blurts out, "I had to leave the feast, sir. I was having a panic attack." He doesn't open his eyes again. The silence is more stunned than it should be, more stunned than it would have been if he was anyone other than Harry Bloody Potter.

To his relief, Dumbledore breaks the silence. "I see. If you will, Mr. Potter, I would like to see you in my office so that we can determine if there is anything that can be done for you. As for the rest of you, it might be best if you could attempt to calm the students. Argus, your cat will be restored to full health as soon as Professor Sprout's Mandrakes reach maturity."

With some grumbling, everyone is finally persuaded to allow Dumbledore and Harry to go to the man's office in silence. Once again, Potter finds himself sitting in front of the Headmaster's desk and wondering what on earth he's done to deserve this slot in life.

 _James?_ He calls desperately inside, _James, I really need you to talk to Dumbledore right now!_ Despite the alter's misgivings, the chance to speak to the Headmaster manages to draw James out of his reverie and back to the world of the living. It takes a moment to catch him up on everything (during which time Potter pretends, not entirely untruthly, to be switching in the stereotypical head-fallen-on-the-chest-eyes-half-rolled-back fashion), and then James is ready for action.

"We didn't touch Filch's cat!" he loudly insists. His blunt manner causes a smile to settle on Dumbledore's lips, but the man's eyes remain grave.

"I'm well aware that no one that I know would be willing to commit such a deed," Dumbledore says carefully.

James's mouth drops. "Are you saying that one of us did it?!"

The smile drops from Dumbledore's face. "I do not know who Petrified Mrs. Norris," he admits. "As I stated before, such a spell would require Dark Magic of the most advanced nature."

"But you think one of us did it," James argues, picking up on the man's careful avoidance of the issue. "Look. I know that we might seem crazy, but we while we may not like Filch's stupid cat, it's not worth trying to freeze it or whatever! We wouldn't do something like that, none of us. And that message left on the wall, about the Chamber? Load of nonsense as far as I'm concerned, but if we really wanted to scare someone, we wouldn't be so damned passive aggressive about it. At least, I wouldn't, but even stupid Snake wouldn't…"

Realizing that he might have said too much, James falls back with a huff. Dumbledore is watching him closely.

"Yes, I do believe that whatever happened, you were not aware of it, or you would have tried to stop it." He raises a hand to pause James speech. "I do mean that in general. You've proven yourself to be very willing to stop any evil that you may notice." James nods at this, but Dumbledore continues, "However, due to the nature of your condition, I'm not sure that we can rely on your memory."

"Headmaster," James starts to insist before realizing that he has nothing to say. They never indicated to the Headmaster that they don't black out, and besides, aren't they blacking out now? Didn’t they black out earlier today, even?

"We wouldn't," he finishes weakly. "There may be evil inside of us, but not… Headmaster, we _wouldn't_."

Dumbledore must be able to read the terror in James's eyes. He nods sadly. "You should return to your dorm. And please, come to me if you notice anything or need someone to talk to. Even if you simply wish for a listening ear the next time that you experience panic, my office is always welcome to you."

James leaves in a daze. He's almost back to the dungeons before he speaks again.

_I'll destroy whoever did that._

When Potter reacts only with a shocked silence, he clarifies, _I don't care what anyone says. We won't be evil._

_I will not let us prove Vernon right._


	31. Book 2 Chapter 5

He has to admit, he prefers how the other houses avoid him. Potter's lost track of how much time has passed since Mrs. Norris was first petrified- he thinks that it couldn't have been that long ago, but with each day stretching out to cover a year, he's no longer sure- but the rumors surrounding him haven't died down. If anything, they've increased. With each new person that turns up frozen, another wave of suspicion washes through the student body. A first year, Collin Creevey, was the first. Justin Flinch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick soon followed. Despite Ron and Hermione's loyal insistence that he's innocent, many of the students from other houses avoid Potter as if he carries the plague. In his own house, however, only Blaise will stand up for him, and that's where he needs the help most.

The Slytherins aren't afraid of him. Oh no, quite the contrary. They're convinced that he's the Heir of Slytherin, returned to wreck havoc on the school for allowing in Mudbloods. It doesn't seem to matter to them that his best friend is muggle born; really, they see him with Draco and that's that. It's caused enough headaches that Potter's beginning to agree with James; Draco's more trouble than he's worth. It's not like they don't have Ron and Hermione, annoying as he himself finds Ron, and while Blaise may not be high on the Slytherin social ladder, it's obvious that he commands respect. What more could they need?

And it's true. Having grown up without being shown so much as a shred of affection, even the attention that their friends pay them now is almost overwhelming. Potter had never dared to dream that anyone could be so accepting of them, yet here he is now, in the library with Hermione, and she hasn't shown any signs of wanting to run away yet. Actually, after her initial phase of wanting to research every possible aspect of DID, she seems more accepting than ever. It amazes Potter that someone could see them, know more than one of them, and not cast them aside as a freak, but if she truly likes them, he's certainly not going to push his luck!

Right now, Potter and Hermione are taking a quick break from research. Well, Hermione's taking a research break. Potter's enjoying the chance to talk to her again. When Hermione gets focused on research, it's usually Harrison who comes out to join her. It amazes Potter how well she and Harrison and get along. Though Potter's almost positive that Harrison must be Autistic, Hermione's endlessly patient with him. She seems to enjoy having someone to discuss her research findings with, and she seems delighted when Harrison can point out things that she's missing. She doesn't seem to mind that he can't hold much of a conversation unless he's spending hours on end rambling about one thing or another. She seems to actually enjoy what he does have to say.

To be honest, Potter thinks that Hermione gets along better with Harrison than she does with him. They're friendly with each other, but they don't have much in common. Sometimes, when silence falls between them, it gets so awkward that Potter almost wants to force Lily out just so that he can escape. Even after all this time, though, he feels incredibly vulnerable switching when someone's watching him. It's one thing for someone else to already be out when they go to see Hermione, and he doesn't mind if he's co-conscious and someone wants to add their opinion on something. Actually switching, however, never fails to make him nervous. He thinks that Hermione's probably picked up on this, and he knows that while she'd be too polite to say anything, it probably disappoints her. She's a curious person by nature, and being able to chat more about how exactly DID works for them would probably delight her. Potter's ashamed of his reluctance, but as much as he trusts Hermione, he can't let his guard down completely around her.

On the other hand… on the other hand, doesn't he owe it to her? She's their first real friend. She's the first person who's ever accepted them. Isn't he being a terrible friend in return if he's so paranoid and refuses to trust her? It's obvious that she wants to know more about them, and he knows that she would never hurt them on purpose. She's so great with Harrison that maybe… maybe…

"Potter?" Hermione asks, and Potter wonders how long he's been off in his own world.

"Sorry," he says stiffly to hide his embarrassment. Hermione nods, but she seems to know that there's more to it. She probably thinks that it's a system thing, maybe that he was distracted by someone else inside. As always, she's too polite to ask.

He interrupts her before she can return to whatever the conversation topic was before. "Hermione—ah, this is a bit strange for me to ask. But I know that you've wanted to meet more of us for a while. And well, some of us haven't had a chance to talk to anyone in a very long time or have never had any friends at all. So I was just—if there's anyone in particular that you want to meet, I wouldn't mind it if you asked to see them."

Potter cringes, well aware of how horribly awkward that came out, but Hermione is too busy staring at the table to notice. Almost shyly, she says, "I've been wondering about the littles. I read that they're really important to a DID system, you know—and I know that you all don't have that many, it's just that it seems like they wouldn't get much of a chance to see things while you're surrounded by people at school. And well, I am rather curious."

"I know," Potter grins, laughing to hide his unease. Will the children be safe? If something happens, they won't be able to protect themselves…

"We'll have to go somewhere where no one else can see us by accident."

Hermione nods thoughtfully before commanding that he follow her. To his surprise, she leads him to an old girls bathroom.

"Er, Hermione…"

"Don't worry," she informs him, "no one ever comes here, not when Moaning Myrtle floods it so often." She wastes little time explaining who Moaning Myrtle is and why no, it doesn't matter if Myrtle sees them, before sitting down curiously on the edge of a sink and waiting.

"Give me a second," Potter says after a moment or two pass in silence. He ducks into one of the bathroom stalls and crouches close to the floor, taking deep breaths. Only now does it occur to him that he might not be able to switch on command. He's done it so many times with Harry and James, but they're much stronger and more prominent alters than any of the children. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Well, there's only one way to find out for sure. Potter closes his eyes and concentrates hard on summoning Hansel. If he could just duck inside, that'd be one thing, but he's not sure what would happen if he left the body without anyone in control. Lights off, no one's home, perhaps! Shaking his head, he concentrates harder, trying to mentally call inside.

 _Oh, fuck it,_ he hears someone mutter. Moments later, Harry returns with Hairy, and Potter kicks himself for not noticing that his core was watching. Harry just rolls his eyes.

 _Couldn't get Hansel,_ he explains, _not sure why. Think he went dormant._ Potter nods. It happens, sometimes. If alters aren't useful at the moment, the brain often decides to stop wasting energy on keeping them so compartmentalized. They won't just integrate, of course, not unless everything that created them has been sufficiently processed, but they won't be ready to switch out when there's not a trigger, either. Nothing worth panicking about.

For that matter, Hariy's feeling a bit faded, but Potter's sure that he'll be back to normal soon enough. He seems to be gaining strength by the second when he realizes that someone is waiting outside of the stall to talk to him.

"Hi!" he exclaims, and Hermione looks startled. For a moment, Potter panics, wondering if they did something wrong, wondering just how young they look, wondering why on earth he was stupid enough to think that letting out the four year old was a good idea…

"Who is this?" Hermione asks.

Hairy smiles widely. "Hairy!"

Potter mentally facepalms, and even Harry winces. _Oops._

"Harry?" Hermione asks in confusion. Hairy nods.

"But I'm not the big Hairy. He spells his name funny. I'm four." Already losing interest, he's glancing around the bathroom with wide eyes. "I don't know where we are," he loudly proclaims.

"You're at Hogwarts," Hermione says. Seeing his confusion, she adds, "it's a special school for people with magic."

Hairy's whole face lights up. "I 'member that! A giant showed Harry and us around a shopping mall where there were funny people in dresses and candy moved! Hansel got to eat some, but they wouldn't let me try 'cause they said I'm too little."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione smiles. "You haven't been out in a long time, then, have you?"

Hairy just stares at her.

"That was over a year ago, Harry," she says. Hairy shrugs.

"I go to sleep a lot," he tells her. "Lily tells Hansel and me that we need to go away so they can do boring adult things. Blech! And then the body gets all old while we're sleeping, and we never get to do fun stuff cause Harry's boring and says we gotta look like grownups."

"Well, what kind of things do you like to do?"

"I like to play with bubbles!  Our cousin got bubbles sometimes. He got to blow them. We didn't get those kind of bubbles, we got the sink kind. Sometimes, if Aunt and Uncle were in another room, Dudley would play bubbles with me. We had bubble wars!"

"And your Aunt and Uncle don't mind that?"

"I dunno," Hairy shrugs, "Lily makes me go to sleep when they come back."

He doesn't notice the fear on Hermione's face. To her credit, she recovers quickly.

"Would you like some bubbles to play with now?"

"Yeah!" Hairy cheers. "You have bubbles? Can I see?"

"Not quite." She draws in a deep breath, waves her wand, and summons bubbles from thin air. "Sorry," she apologizes, "I don't know how to make the mix for you to blow…"

Hairy doesn't respond. He's too busy staring at a bubble whose size rivals that of his head. Besides, how could he talk with his jaw on the floor like that?

Pop! Hairy beams. Then he's running around the bathroom, sliding as he goes—"Oh, do slow down! Please don't fall!!" Hermione pleads—popping every bubble that he comes across. Myrtle watches him curiously from one of her stalls, and Potter mentally turns crimson, but Hairy takes no notice.

"Wow!" he finally exclaims as the last bubble disappears. He looks at Hermione expectantly, but she shakes her head.

"How are you not tired yet?" she laughs. Hairy just grins.

"You said I slept for a year! I don't wanna go back to bed yet."

"Well, that makes sense. You can't stay out for too long, though. Harry—er, big Harry—has to go to dinner soon."

Hairy pouts. His face brightens as he asks "I could go get dinner for him! I like food. Especially sweets! Maybe they'll have pudding for dessert."

"Sorry, but I don't think that… that Lily would like that much."

Hairy goes back to pouting, though he's quickly distracted when he realizes that he can draw pictures in the residual suds from the bubbles. "That's you," he explains, pointing to a stick figure with huge scribbles for hair. "That's me."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaims when she sees the long spikes that stick out from the stick figure's head. "No wonder they call you Hairy!"

"It's because I'm part wolf," Hairy says seriously. "I won't bite you, though. I bit Dudley once. He had to get a hundred stitches! They made me eat dinner from a dog bowl with the other dogs, so I ran away and lived in the woods til they said they'd be nicer."

Hermione doesn't seem to know how to react, probably wondering how much of the story is really true. Cheerful as ever, Hairy's gone back to drawing, this time an evil witch, fat pig boy, and monster. Finally, Hermione goes to carefully kneel down beside him. They spend a few minutes drawing together before Hairy gets bored.

"Do some more magic!" he demands.

"What would you like to see?"

Hairy crosses his arms and grins. "If I don't get dessert, you should get me some!"

"You're going to spoil Harry's appetite!" Hermione scolds him. Hairy sticks out his tongue.

"Don't care! A real witch could make me lots of sweets. Like a gingerbread house, a real one!"

"Doesn't the witch try to eat the children in that story?" Hermione asks. But, as requested, she summons a chocolate frog from her robes. "Will this do?"

At first, Hairy's a bit reluctant to eat something that's still moving, but when he can be persuaded that it's not really alive and won't actually be hurt, he's very happy to munch away.

"Thank you!" he says when he finishes, leaping at her without warning. The weight of Harry's body almost knocks her down—it, unlike Hairy, isn't exactly four anymore—but she doesn't seem to mind much even if he does smear bubble mix all over her robes.

"Bye Hairy!" she waves. "I'll talk to you again some other time, okay?"

"Okay," he nods, holding back a yawn, unused to having to front for so long. "Next time, you can take me flying, okay?"

"We'll see."

And then Potter finds himself back in the body, blinking heavily to clear the fog from his head. Avoiding looking at Hermione, he moves to clean the floor and their clothes, but she beats him to it with a wave of her wand.

When he looks up, she smiles at him. "Thank you," she says seriously.

"Don't mention it," Potter says, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "Honestly, Hermione, I'm the one who should be thanking _you_. Thank you for keeping an eye on him. Thank you for playing with him. Thank you for witnessing all of that and not running away…"

"Potter!" Hermione scolds. Before either of them really knows what she's doing, she whacks him lightly on the back of his head like she's done to Ron so many times before. Hurriedly, she continues, "I'm not leaving you all. You're my closest friends. I would miss Lily and Harrison too much… even if I could do without James." Her wink tells him that she's joking, though Potter couldn't blame her if she meant it.

"Thank you," he repeats. He wonders if this is going to become a habit when he has to turn away to turn away to hide a stray tear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter (coming soon to a theater near you!) were originally meant to be combined. However, this chapter is meant to be fluffy, a nice break from the drama. The next… not exactly. I thought that combining them might be a little too cruel, so you'll just have to wait for the next update. For that matter, I'm sorry for how slowly I'm updating right now. I have a lot of summer work that I need to complete by August 7th… and the alter that understands math and science seems to have disappeared. I'm slightly panicked, but hopefully that will turn out alright, somehow.


	32. Chapter 32

The entire system feels frozen in terror. Even the shift of shadows long dormant seems to speak of a dread so deep that Harry can't even process it. He can feel his reality tearing, a shape attempting to form from the pain around it, but he forces it to retreat. He won't split, not now. He refuses to dampen any of the pain. It would feel like a betrayal of the worst sort. After all, how could he not allow himself to mourn their best friend?

 _She's not dead_ , Potter reminds him, though his voice is shaky and weak.  _She's just petrified. The Mandrakes… really Harry, she'll be fine._

She was fine yesterday. Only a day before, they couldn't have imagined feeling happier. After all, for once in their lives, they were really accepted. They had been vulnerable, weak, even downright childish (truly a child, but that had never stopped anyone from hurting them before), yet Hermione had accepted it all with open arms. One of her arms is open now, held straight ahead of her. She's so stiff.

Harry turns away and sits down before he can faint. He's shaking, and Madam Pomfrey looks at with sympathy, but he doesn't care. The trembling continues even after Potter takes control. They had another blackout today. Was this…? Could it have been…?

There's another girl on the bed beside Hermione, a Ravenclaw girl. Her friends are there, as well. They're glaring at him. Ron's in front of him, shielding him from their accusing eyes, and Potter regrets every cruel thought he's ever had about the boy.

"Come on, Harry," he hears Ron say as if from a distance. Ron helps him to his feet and supports him until they a near a bathroom. There, Potter breaks away, dashes inside as quickly as he can, and promptly vomits.

XXXXX

Even the teachers eye him with suspicion. The students from other houses won't speak to him. At first, they mocked him, but Jay only had to blow up into an explosive fit about how she'd like to burn alive every single one of them, herself included, if that was their reaction to people dying. Shouldn't someone be  _doing_  something? But nothing was done, not even to Harry. They were sent to Dumbledore. He lectured Jay about keeping her temper in check and again asked the system to tell him if they noticed anything strange. Nothing changed.

But everything's changed, and Harry's too tired to care. James is moody and secretive. He's taken to snapping at everyone, even his sister, and the Quidditch team no longer tries to talk to him. He's never successfully attacked anyone, but when his teammates first congratulated him on "finally getting that ugly little mud blood," he had to be restrained to keep him from breaking someone's nose. Potions, as well, is a nightmare. No longer content with seething in her corner, Jay snarks about Professor Snape whenever she gets the chance. He won't give her a detention, most likely because he doesn't want to spend any more time with her than necessary, but he's grading their papers much more harshly and seems close to trying to sabotage their potions.

At night, Harry doesn't sleep. During meals, he can only get down a few bites. Around him, the Slytherin table bursts with activity, but no one includes them in conversations anymore. Petal insults everyone that she comes across with gleeful malice. Oh, she's polite enough to those who hate Harry, and she'll even swallow her pride around students who think he should be proud of his status as a pure blood fanatic, but Ron knows better to approach them when their face gets that mean. Worse, Draco no longer wants to approach them at all. Whether they would previously care or not, they now need all of the allies that they can get. They'll have to confront him.

"Draco?" Potter asks cautiously. Draco barely looks up from his potions book, face remaining stony and closed. Potter sighs.

"Sorry?" he tries, but he's not surprised when Draco doesn't respond. He'll have to provide an excuse, then. Making sure that no one's wandering around directly outside, Potter closes the door to their dorm and makes for his bed. Draco bookmarks his page and prepares to leave, but Potter quickly grabs his arm. Draco jerks back with a glare.

"Draco, please." Potter closes his eyes and continues, "just let me explain."

" _Explain_?" Draco says distastefully. "Explain  _what_ , Potter? Why you've turned into such an nutjob all of sudden?"

"Yes, actually. Look, Draco… you know what I told you about my family before?"

Draco nods, looking suspicious.

"Well," Potter says, trying to decide how much to share, "I told you that they're awful. That was… well, that was a bit of an understatement. Draco, you can't tell anyone this, alright?"

Now Draco looks more nervous, and Potter realizes that he must know where this is going. Sheltered or not, Draco's not actually stupid. Potter's not sure yet if that's a good or bad thing.

"So, yes. My family abused me. It's not that I'm trying to excuse my behavior, don't get me wrong. Bad behavior is bad behavior, and circumstances don't change that. But it's relevant because… well, you know how to behave because your parents taught you, right? But what I learned from my parents is that you need to either fight back or make yourself scarce when someone's angry. Most of the time, it came down to running and hiding, but I can't do that here. Everyone's judging me for something that I didn't do, and old survival mechanisms are kicking up that really don't work anymore. I feel like I'm constantly under attack, and I don't know what is or isn't a good reaction. So yeah, I am kind of acting like a prick. It's stupid, but I can't always stop myself from freaking out."

There's a long stretch of silence, and Potter begins to regret sharing that much. Finally, Draco meets his eyes. What he says surprises him.

"Thank you for telling me." Draco laughs awkwardly, shaking his head. "Damn, Potter—Harry. I didn't…" Anger flashes across his face. "Does the Headmaster know that?"

 _Shit_.

"I have nowhere else to stay," Potter says carefully. "I ended last summer with the Weasleys, but I don't want to intrude. Besides, it's not always awful at home…"

"Right," Draco snorts. "That old lunatic, sending you back to those filth!" He shakes his head in disgust before perking up a bit. "I'm sure that my father wouldn't mind you staying with us some time."

_Oh, I'm sure he'd love all of his Death Eater friends knowing exactly where they could find us! Not to mention the rush you'd get from having such a close relationship with the famous Boy Who Lived._

"Thank you, Draco." Potter tries to smile at his classmate and is relieved when Draco smiles back.

At least that problem is solved.


	33. Chapter 33

***TW Violence***

He doesn't know who threw the first punch, but Freakazoid seems determined to throw the last. Potter doesn't know for sure why his housemates don't intervene, but he's not sure that he can blame them. After all, he's not trying to regain control, either. How many times now have they been attacked in the hallways by some overly zealous Gryffindor who's determined to take "justice" into their own hands? Granted, it's a group of Ravenclaws this time, but it's no different. It's not like ending this particular attack would change anything. At least no one tries to hex them anymore. Potter supposes that the other students noticed that he's more than capable of defending himself and returning the favor. However, as much as it pains him to admit it, starvation doesn't lend itself to strength, and as long as they refuse to use magic in an offensive manner, they're going to have to get used to being beaten to a pulp.

Potter almost feels like he jinxed them when the next hit sends them crashing to the floor. Freakazoid spits and curses, but he's holding his head like it hurts. Potter's too numb to feel it, but he's not worried. Lily can heal it. She's healed worse. He's more concerned about the fact that Bruises is trying so hard to front. If going limp would actually work, he'd consider letting the poor boy do his job, but he knows from experience that it wouldn't end well. Instead, he's fighting the urge to break their self-imposed restriction on magic. They'd get in horrible trouble for being involved in yet another fight, and, worse, James might completely lose it if they act "evil." Besides, how completely ironic would it be if they actually hurt someone while fighting over the fact that they didn't hurt anyone?

Still, Potter's not sure that this is any better. At least Freakazoid's back on his feet now. The oldest Ravenclaw isn't laughing like he was early on, not now that one of the younger students has a black eye. The crowd around them seems to have thickened a bit, and Potter would curse bystander apathy if he wasn't slightly glad that he doesn't have to rely on an outsider to save them. They can take care of themselves. They don't need anyone, especially not someone other than…

There's a sickening crunch as Freakazoid manages to break the taller girl's nose. Her companion shrieks and darts to her side, pulling her away from the fight despite her protests. Her boyfriend smashes their head against the wall for that, but Freakazoid just laughs. Vernon's done worse, the bullies have done worse. This is nothing. The boy seems a bit unnerved by this, and Potter picks out a few Slytherins cheering them on. At least their house supports them in its own way.

***End TW***

"What is going on here?" a voice thunders, apparently attracted by the noise of the crowd that now divides to allow the Professor through. One of the assailants backs up quickly as if trying to blend into the crowd, but the man's cold stare freezes them into place. Then the man's eyes flicker to Harry, and his jaw clenches, irritation settling into his eyes.

"Potter," he manages to grit out.

"Professor Snape," Potter nods in acknowledgement, quickly shoving Freakazoid aside to prevent a scene.

"All of you go back to your dorms," Snape coldly commands. Catching one of the aggressors by the arm, he clarifies, "except for those involved in this … delinquency." He jerks his chin towards Dumbledore's office. "You will be going to see the Headmaster… all of you."

"Sir," Seamus finally speaks up, "Harry didn't start this. He was attacked, he was just defending himself."

Snape's glare manages to magnify in intensity, but he releases the delinquent fifth year to grip Potter's arm instead. "To my office, Potter."

The crowd is slow to break, and Potter hears murmured gossip following him all the way down the dungeons. He doesn't protest when Snape practically throws him into a chair before dramatically swirling around to face him and glare some more.

"What were you  _thinking_ ," he hisses.

"Sir?" Potter asks, a bit shocked.

Snape rolls his eyes as if Potter is thick. "They think," he says slowly, "that you are the heir. Fighting will not help—regardless of who started it."

"I'm sorry Sir," Potter says, but inside, he can feel anger overtake him. That's it? No, 'are you alright?' He didn't expect any better, and he tries to tell himself that Snape's just doing what he has to do as their Head of House. He can't excuse fighting, after all, and only Dumbledore can decide whether or not they're to blame for what happened. But Potter can't help it. Unbidden, memories spill into his mind. He's six, watching "Harry" get berated for refusing to talk to Dudley. He's eight, hearing the teacher yell at "Harry" to stop fighting with the boy who tried to feed him worms. He's nine, sick and tired of the counselor telling him to just ignore Piers. He's ten, and even his self hatred can't convince him that Vernon's right when he pins the blame on them yet again.

"Are you even listening?" Snape asks, irritated. Potter nods, clenching the chair. He closes his eyes and blinks heavily.

"Potter!" Snape barks. Potter forces his eyes back open, but the world is blurry, everything that he focuses on too sharp. His eyes close again, and he squeezes them as tightly shut as he can. The room is spinning a bit.

 _What in Merlin's name is going on here?_ James demands. Potter doesn't stop him from pushing his way to front, and the alter glares up at Snape. Then he laughs.  _He looks like he wants to strangle me! What's this about violence being awful, again? Bloody hypocrite._

Snape bristles, not happy about James's rude behavior. "Do you take this to be a  _joke_ , Potter?"

"Not at all,  _sir_." James's sneer is nowhere near as chilling as Snape's—in fact, it's rather arrogant—and the Professor's frown darkens.

"Do you think that this is a game, Potter?"

James winces at the name, but says nothing, so Snape continues. "With your insolent attitude, it's not surprising that many students suspect you of being the one behind the attacks. The circumstances do seem rather—suspicious, however,  _surely_  you would not attack such a close… friend."

The barbed insult snaps James's self control, and he leaps from his seat and slams his fists into Snape's desk. Never one for attempting to be dramatic or dark, he shouts, "Right, blame it all on us! You filthy, greasy,  **bastard**! No, you listen here, you… We would—I would never lay a hand on Hermione, I would never hurt her and you know it! She was our—my best friend, my only real friend. Do you have any idea what it's done to me to have her gone like this?! To know that everyone blames me, that they think I could ever hurt her… don't you dare act like I'm at fault here! Those students, they attacked me because they wanted an excuse to hurt me. Sure, they're angry about the Chamber, and yeah, a lot of them think that I did it. But—" and here James laughs wildly, "—but, they've been scared of me ever since I got into Slytherin. That's not my fault. That's not even about me! It's about this stupid house that Voldemort got into, it's about you and your stupid Death Eater past, maybe if Slytherins weren't such little bitches—!"

"That is enough." Snape and James stare at each other, both with fury visible in their eyes, strained postures betraying their desire for any excuse to rip the person in front of them apart.

"Go back to your dorm," Snape manages to breathe. James laughs again, grins bitterly when Snape stiffens, and turns around to leave. He's shaking a bit, adrenaline still coursing through his system. He isn't thinking rationally.

"Bet you'd like it if I was the one killing off your hated little muggle borns, wouldn't you."

Snape reaches them in a moment. For the second time that day, their head slams against the wall. This time, their already weakened control shatters.

The scream must sound hysterical. It's enough for Snape, angry as he must be, to release the collar of their shirt and take a step back in shock. Bruises flinches at the movement, staring up at him in mute terror. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and a bit of snot is falling into his open mouth. He's trembling, but he makes no more noises. Snape still looks weary, but he backs away to his desk as if trying to see the situation from a clearer view. The moment that he's far enough away, Bruises darts into a corner and throws himself under a desk. He stares wildly around for a moment before throwing himself forwards again. His hands search out his hair and begin tearing wildly, scratching his face and hitting the wall without notice.

"Potter?" Snape asks. To his credit, shocked as he may be, his voice is much softer and could almost be described as gentle if one didn't know better. But Bruises doesn't acknowledge him, and his voice takes on an edge of panic. "Potter! Stop that at once!"

Bruises stops with the head banging, but he places most of a fist into his mouth and begins to bite. His other hand is still busy tearing at his hair, and he never stopped crying. Snape seems at a loss.

"I won't hurt you," he informs Bruises, but he's not sure if the boy even heard him. After a moment, he tries, "Would you prefer that I get the Headmaster? No, I shouldn't leave you alone, you might—" Coming to his senses, the potions master retrieves a Calming Drought. He approaches Bruises slowly, noting that the boy instantly stills when he gets too close. He crouches down on his knees and offers the potion, but Bruises makes no indication that he's going to take it.

"Drink this, Po—Harry," Snape says. Regardless of his intention, he seems surprised when Bruises fearfully obeys. Snape waits with baited breath. The potion only seems to take the edge off of the boy's terror, but when Snape returns to his desk, it's enough for Bruises to escape out of the door. He doesn't notice Snape staring after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, thanks to all who read, reviewed, and enjoyed! I actually have a question for those who can answer. I'm female, and Harry is obviously not. Is my portrayal of a male trauma survivor accurate? I know many men who were abused, but I'm not privy to their thoughts, and I want to make sure that I'm not writing this incorrectly.


	34. Chapter 34

"Something is wrong with Potter."

Dumbledore pauses and looks up at Snape. The Potion Master's face must be paler than usual, or perhaps it's just that he interrupted a meeting between Dumbledore and McGonagall. The Headmaster puts down his pen with a sigh, and, for a moment, Snape is struck with the idea that the man is terribly old.

"Please," Dumbledore says, "continue." He and McGonagall listen attentively as Snape explains the events of the past hour along with other things that he's noticed since Harry Potter was placed into his house. Only McGonagall visibly reacts, collapsing back into her chair in horror, but the light seems to have fled from Dumbledore's eyes. Snape doesn't notice.

"What is wrong with the boy?" He demands. "I've never seen anything like it. I had assumed that he just wanted attention, but now…"

"Minerva," Dumbledore says with some difficulty, "perhaps you should leave us."

"Headmaster!" McGonagall protests. "The boy may not be one of mine, but you know that I care for him."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighs. For a minute, no one speaks, but the Headmaster seems to be thinking of how to say something. Finally, he looks at both McGonagall and Snape in turn as if searching for something. "I don't suppose that you've ever heard of Multiple Personality Disorder?"

XXXXX

_What in Merlin's name is going on?_ James demands. No one answers him, but when he glares in McGonagall's direction, she quickly turns away. Honestly, he's relieved. He caught her staring at them earlier, and the mix of disgust and pity in her eyes made him want to puke (preferably on her shoes or some other nice item that he could potentially destroy). She's not the first teacher today to look at them like that, either. If James's isn't going insane with paranoia (and he isn't), he would have sworn that the entire row of professors was staring at them this morning and gossiping behind their hands. Only Snape stubbornly avoided looking in their direction, and it makes James's blood boil. He knows exactly what must have happened. Snape told everyone how they reacted yesterday, and now the staff knows just how fucked in the head they are. No wonder McGonagall doesn't want to deal with them anymore! Who would?

Tensely, James glances at the students around him, but no one will meet his eyes. Apparently, Dumbledore made an announcement that students are not to talk about the Chamber of Secrets until mature discussions can occur without classes being disrupted, and even their classmates have decided that this means that the best option is to pretend that he doesn't exist. To be fair, James can't say that he minds. He should have known that a school filled with freaks was going to showcase some rather unflattering behaviors.

For the rest of class, James lays his head on the desk and pretends to sleep. No one bothers him, and he's almost bored to tears by the time that the bell rings. Relieved, he grabs his books and all but runs to his next class. Unfortunately, it goes little better than the first. There's no disgust in Flitwik's eyes, but there is fear. James begins to wonder just what the Professor was told. Though he tries his best to shield her, Lily notices their teacher's behavior, and a dark cloud descends on them all. Herbology is no better, though at least Blaise tries his best to engage them in conversation. Finally, they have Potions, and when Jay joins James at front, they're about ready to murder a certain someone.

But Snape still won't look at them. In fact, he'll barely look at anyone. While he's quicker than ever to snap, his usual composure is gone, and he seems almost restless. The students begin to wonder if he's sick. Jay hears one student sneer that "Harry Potter" released whatever is in the Chamber was on him but decided that he hated the professor enough to leave him alive; Snape doesn't even look their way when the Gryffindor has to go to the hospital wing because of their mysteriously exploding potion. For the first time in James's memory, his sister is silent with fear.

They don't sleep that night.

XXXXX

Their first class of the day is Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potter is considering running off into the Forbidden Forest instead of seeing how Lockhart's reacting to whatever rumors have swept through the professors. He enters the classroom so tense that his muscles begin to ache, but his fear is unplaced. Lockhart is the same as ever, though he does seem to be regarding them a bit more closely than usual. Still, his attention is focused on a different outlet: dueling.

"It will be a marvelous class, a wonderful opportunity for all of you to show off your skills and learn from each other and, of course, myself." He flashes a bright smile at the class, and his eyes land on Potter. "Of course, Harry will be there, as well. Perhaps he can show all of you some new tricks! Don't worry, I'm well aware that young folk prefer to learn from their peers." He winks, and Potter's face goes bright red with anger and shame. When someone taps him on the shoulder, he almost jumps out of his seat. But to his surprise, the face that he turns to meet, though holding back snickers like everyone else, is friendly.

"God, he's a nutter, isn't he?" the girl, Flora Crow, mutters. She rolls her eyes dramatically, sighing, "and now you'll have to show up just to avoid him pitching a fit over it! Sucks. Bet the other houses will panic, too… actually, that might not be so bad." She winks, and Potter's struck by how expressive her features are. She seems sincere enough, if not the nicest person he's ever met. Ignoring his silence, she continues, "really, though. You've proven that you can beat them in battle, so they leave you alone. But maybe if you can show them up in a proper wizard duel, they'll respect you a bit more. For the wizard families, at least, those kinds of things still hold some weight. The muggleborns are a bit silly, don't seem to like seeing anyone get beaten, but they're not the ones who buy into the rumors as much, anyway, because you're still a normal student to most of them."

"… Thank you," Potter says when it becomes obvious that a reply is needed. She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Not very social, are you? Not that I can blame you, not with all this crap going on. Now hush before we attract Lockhart's attention. I rather prefer flying under his radar. Good luck being the favored one!" she mocks before glaring when he attempts to speak again. Obediently, he turns back to his notes. He revises her opinion of her; perhaps there are some pretty decent Slytherins still, after all.

XXXXX

It's noisy and crowded. People are pushing in on Potter from all sides, and he wonders how Lockhart convinced this many people to show up in the first place. Is he offering some sort of extra credit for the people who participate? He does seem extremely enthusiastic. He's working his way through the crowd now, shaking hands and patting people on the shoulder. For the first time in far too long, Potter finds himself laughing. Is this just the size of Lockhart's fan base?

Finally, Lockhart is standing on the dueling platform, calling for silence and people's attention. After taking a moment to attempt to "naturally pose," he explains the rules of formal wizard dueling and introduces his assistant: Professor Snape.

Whatever Lockhart says next, Potter misses it. He's too busy picking his jaw up off the floor, and he's not the only one. Snape, for his part, doesn't look very happy to be there, but at least he seems to have recovered from the events of last week, though, admittedly, it's hard to tell with him. It's not until a hush falls over the crowd that Potter manages to tune back in to Lockhart's speech.

"Our first duelists will be…" the man says with a dramatic pause, "Sabrina Fawcett… and… Harry Potter!"

Potter wants to smack the man in the face. Of  _course_  he wants them to duel an upperclassman from Ravenclaw. Of bloody  _course_.

For her part, Sabrina doesn't look any happier, but at least she doesn't refuse to bow before the duel begins. The two students stand at ready as Lockhart slowly counts down to one. He's barely started the duel when Sabrina begins launching spell after spell. Potter finds himself throwing up shields faster than he ever has before, resorting to physically dodging some of the more powerful hexes. What happened to disarming, not maiming?! Neither of the professors seems inclined to interfere, so Potter just does his best not to get hit. How long will this continue? He tries to return a few jinxes of his own, but Sabrina has to be at least two grades ahead of him, and it's child's play for her to defend against the few spells that second years are taught. Should he abandon traditional spells and let Lily form an attack of her own?

The coming spells are relentless, and Potter finds his patience wearing thin. He recognizes some of the incantations, and he realizes that if he were to be hit, he could actually be seriously injured. Why is no one stepping up to help him? Why does no one ever care what happens to him? Do they assume that just because he's the precious Boy Who Lived, he can survive anything? Do they think he'll win just because he's managed not to die yet? Fine, then. He'll have to give them what they want.

Magic stirs from somewhere deep inside of him, and Potter grasps it firmly and pulls it to him. He doesn't have time to strengthen his shield charm against a particularly nasty assault, but the magic, he quickly discovers, is a far better armor. Startled, Sabrina takes a moment to reinforce her own shield, and Potter takes the opportunity. He doesn't think. He sends the magic careening towards her, and it smashes through her shield in an instant. Her mouth forms an 'o' of horror as she's spent flying back several feet and smashes into a wall. She crumbles into a heap on the floor, and for a second, the world seems to freeze. Then she groans, and her hand twitches towards her head, and Potter sinks to the floor himself, dizzy with relief. Now that the magic's draining back away from him, he's surprisingly tired, and he's forced to remember how long he's gone without a proper night of sleep.

"Potter!" a voice yells in the distance. Then someone's roughly knocking him to the side. It takes him for a moment to process the light that just zipped by his head. For a moment, everyone seems too stunned to react. Then, spells are flying everywhere. Not even Lockhart can make his voice heard over the roar of the crowd. It doesn't take long, however, for some of the students to take up a chant.

"Kill the snakes!"

The student- Theodore Nott, Potter recognizes- helps pull him to his feet, and they both dash down to join the frenzy. Potter doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he's not sure that he has a choice. A frighteningly large number of students are now attacking any Slytherin that they see, and many Slytherins are returning the favor. To his relief, quite a few students from other houses are helping to defend his classmates, but that only seems to encourage the aggressors to attack anyone they come across. Soon, even Potter can't tell what side anyone's on, but he fears that if he pauses for even a moment, he'll be killed. He tries to keep his spells defensive or meant to disarm his opponent, but as the fighting continues and the noise grows, he finds himself shouting off anything that enters his memory. Later, he'll be thankful that he was never taught much in class.

At one point, he thinks that he might see Snape attempting to break up a group of Hufflepuffs that have resorted to fist fighting, but at the other side of the crowd, Lockhart botches every spell that he tries to cast, and he's only making things worse. Potter doesn't have time to dwell on it, and a stray spell sends him crumpling in pain, left knee protesting every shift in weight.

 _Stop it!_ Lily begs when she finishes healing them. Potter takes a deep breath, coming to his senses. Nothing good can come out of this. Already, people are getting severely injured, and even the people who are trying to leave are getting crushed by the crowd. He's never seen a mob before, but he knows what this must be. Feeling downright sick, he resolves to do nothing more than cast shields around others now. There's no reason to try and leave. This isn't about him anymore; it's years of bitter house rivalries finally exploding. The least that he can do is get as many people out of the danger zone as he can.

Time isn't working correctly anymore, and he has no idea how long he's been blocking spells and even using his own body as a barrier. His head is pounding, and he's not thinking clearly. That's probably why, when he comes across a large snake about to attack a first year, he actually tries to tell it to stop instead of just disposing of it. It doesn't even register to him how strange it is when the snake listens. A few people scream, but so many people are screaming that he doesn't even notice. Only when the noise gradually stops does he realize that he's done something strange  _again_.

Well, at least the fighting has stopped. The whispering is spreading like wildfire across the crowd, and even the outer edges are now stopping their feuding to stare at him as he tries to fight his way out. He's considering trying to work his way over to where he had seen Draco, instead, when Snape swoops in and grabs his arm in a death grip. Reluctantly, the crowd again parts for the professor. As they leave, Potter can dimly make out Lockhart saying something, attempting to admonish the students for their behavior. Then the doors slam behind them, and Snape releases his hold to rub his own temples. Potter doesn't say anything. The other students will be trickling back to their dorms, soon, but he can't say that he's inclined to speak to Snape ever again. Actually, he's given up and is walking towards the dungeons himself when Snape finally speaks.

" _Potter_ , " he says, helpless horror permeating his voice. "Don't you know that the only one who could speak Parseltongue in this age would be the heir of Slytherin?"


	35. Chapter 35

He leans his head against the wall, exhausted. Moaning Myrtle makes some sort of sympathetic cooing sound, but he ignores her. He came here so that he could avoid people, not to talk to the ghost of some long dead teenage girl. What a Christmas this is turning out to be! Everyone's so on edge. He can't exactly blame them, but it's unnerving, nonetheless. He had rather hoped that their days of walking on eggshells were past, but now he's left weary around even lower classmen. No one's specifically targeting him anymore, but he's never seen so much tension between the houses. The students that refuse to be bound by their house are labeled "Slytherin Supporters" without a second thought, and the few students who chose to stay at Hogwarts over break have nearly forgotten about the petrifying out of fear of their own classmates. So much for Dumbledore's idea of house unity.

Potter laughs dully and runs his fingers through their hair. What a miserable topic! He needs to distract himself. Wincing and absent mindedly working his fingers through some of the knotted clumps in his bangs, he finally pays attention to the bathroom around him. Why does it feel so wet?

"Myrtle," he asks, and the ghost turns back towards him with delight. "Er, why is there water everywhere?"

"Oh,  _that_ ," she says, mouth turned down into a pout. "I flooded the toilets."

"Why?" Potter asks awkwardly, unsure how to deal with the moody ghost. She doesn't seem to mind the attention, though. In fact, one could say that she's reveling in it.

"Someone threw a  _book_ ," she sniffs, "at my  _head_!"

"Why on earth would someone do that?" Potter blinks in confusion, wondering why someone would come up here in the first place if they were going to be annoyed by Myrtle's wailing.

"I don't know," Myrtle says, voice quickly returning to her traditional moan. "Here I am minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…"

"Do you know who it was?"

Myrtle shakes her head and loudly sobs. "I don't know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head. It's over there, it got washed out…" She looks in its direction before letting lose a shriek and diving into a toilet. Another wave of water floods out, and Potter hopes that the bathroom is still cleaned every now and then. His robes are soaked.

Trying to convince himself that he's curious underneath the more prominent sharp-edged apathy, Potter wanders over to where Myrtle pointed and picks up the small book. It's a diary, he realizes, owned by someone named T. M. Riddle. There's not a single word of writing in it, but it's soaked and a bit nasty. He wonders why someone would have tried to get rid of it. It looks old, but it's not like books have an expiration date.

Potter waves his wand over the book to dry it. Might as well use it himself. He's not quite sure what for, but maybe the littles can color in it, or something. Or should he try to keep them away in case they ask for—

Potter roughly shoves the diary into his pockets and returns to the dorms as quickly as he can. He discards his robes on his bed and tries to distract himself, but there's nothing else to claim his attention. Very few Slytherins remained at the school; even the ones who Potter suspects aren't much more fond of their parents than he is of the Dursleys wanted to escape the atmosphere of the school. That same atmosphere is pressing him now, and he almost wants to scream. This is ridiculous! He's alone. He's fine. He needs to suck it up and stop pretending that he has any reason to be so damn depressed. The only thing wrong right now is him.

As if to prove to himself that he can, he grabs the diary back and takes out a pen, almost dropping it in his haste. It almost rips through the page as he roughly writes _December 25_ _th_ and  _Snap the fuck out of it._

He closes his eyes, fighting back the pain pounding through his head. He's been getting stress headaches lately, but, like all over unpleasant things, he's ignored them. They go away on their own if he just waits and doesn't strain his eyes too much, anyway. Nothing to worry about.

When he can open his eyes without wincing again, it takes him another minute to realize that the text in the book is no longer his own.

 _Pardon?_  The book questions him, the scrawling script unfamiliar and unnervingly neat. Potter feels his stomach drop. Oh, not again…

 _Sorry,_  he replies quickly,  _I wasn't talking to you. Or, I wasn't meaning to, at least._ He watches with some fascination as the letters disappear after a moment. In their place new letters slowly form.

_That's perfectly alright._

_Who are you?_  Potter questions. He notes that when the diary responds, the ink used seems to be his own. Before the diary's quite finished, he tips part of his ink bottle onto a separate page. When the diary finishes absorbing it and resumes writing, it's much faster, and Potter feels strangely gratified.

_My name is Tom Riddle. And who is this? May I ask how you came across my diary?_

_Someone tried to flush it down a toilet,_ Potter replies, slightly amused by the turn the conversation is taking. He's struck by Tom's formal tone and wonders if he should be responding in kind. He checks the date on the diary but is left just as puzzled as before. Surely the wizarding world wasn't that different only fifty years ago?

_I suppose that I should be thankful that my memories are recorded in something more lasting than ink. I shouldn't be surprised that someone tried to dispose of my journal. There are many people who would not wish this to be read._

_What do you mean?_  Potter wonders. Belatedly, he realizes that if this was written fifty years ago, Tom might have been around when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Impatience gnaws at him, and he almost spills the remainder of his ink into the book in his haste to reply.

 _Many terrible things have happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_ Tom has replied. _People have always wished to silence me._

_I'm sorry to hear that. This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets, would it?_

_The Chamber was opened in my fifth year. We had always been told that it was only a myth, but this was a lie. The monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who had opened the Chamber, and he was expelled. Headmaster Dippet, however, was ashamed that such a thing had occurred in his school. He forbade me to tell the truth, and it was claimed that the girl died in an accident. I was rewarded for my efforts, but I was warned to tell no one what had really happened. I wasn't placated so easily. I knew then as I know now that the monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned._

_Can you help me, then? It's happened again, Tom. There have been three attacks, and no one knows who's behind them. I need you to tell me who's behind this._

_Would you like me to show you? I know that you wouldn't believe me, otherwise. I can show you my memory of the night that I caught him._ When Potter doesn't immediately reply, new text forms.  _Let me show you._

Potter isn't quite sure why he obeys, but something inside of him is aching, and he doesn't know why. When the pages flip to a little window showing the events of June 13th, he presses the book to his eye and waits. It doesn't take long at all before he's falling into the memory. It's a sickening feeling, and something feels very, very wrong, but he pushes the idea away and waits to see what Tom will show him.

By the time that the memory ends, he's finding it rather difficult to think. The sickening feeling is overwhelming. So many competing thoughts are racing through his head. Hagrid would never have hurt anyone, would he have? As much as he loved his creatures, surely he wouldn't have allowed anyone to be injured by them. Potter doesn't know the man very well, but Hermione and Ron seemed to trust him, and he had been very accepting of Harry even when he was placed into Slytherin. On the other hand, what could Riddle possibly gain by lying? This all happened years ago. Surely a grudge couldn't remain for that long! And it would explain why Hagrid isn't allowed to use magic. Besides, it's not as if Dumbledore's known to put his students' safety first.

And there is the other point of pain. Much as he tries, Potter can't shake the automatic identification with Tom.  _'I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that—to that—"_ Orphan or not, surely that reaction was over more than just a summer of being ignored! Potter can't help but think of how many times they've been brushed off, their strange reactions disregarded as the products of their parents having been murdered. But even now that the teachers seem to have some strange knowledge about their past—Potter's sure of that now, and knowing what must have happened makes him want to run away and never face another scheming, devious adult again—nothing has improved, to put it mildly. He knows that Tom must have gone through something similar. Even if he's mistaken and it wasn't Hagrid, how can Potter abandon him? If nothing else, Harry gets the feeling that Dumbledore was no kinder to his new friend—

How can he trust anyone this quickly? Potter puts down the book without looking to see if Tom's written anything more, disgusted with himself. It's a magical book. Who's to say that what it says is anything close to the truth? Besides, Tom seemed so stilted and forced. How could he be sincere? Potter needs to get down to the root of the matter. He'll talk to Hagrid tomorrow.

He never gets the chance. Hagrid was taken overnight by the ministry, and Dumbledore is gone with him, no longer the headmaster. Potter doesn't know what to do without Hermione to turn to…

He must be rendered silly by dehydration from crying so much to willingly talk to Tom again, but he barely makes it until after lunch. He's been alone in his room all day, and he's tired and hungry. He's surprised that he hasn't switched yet, but his head feels painfully empty. Perhaps this pain is mostly his, but he needs someone to share it with. He needs someone to talk to, someone that he can trust. He doesn't trust Tom, not at all, but if he can't find a release soon, he's scared of who he'll reveal himself to.

 _My best friend was frozen in the attacks,_ is how he greets the other boy.

 _I'm so sorry. That must be so hard for you._  The reply is quick and unfulfilling, but it there's a chord of real emotion there that wasn't present before, and Potter will take what he can get.

_Hagrid was taken away, but I don't know if he really did it. I know that you told me that he did, but he always seemed like such a nice person. Not that that means anything, of course, but._

This time, the reply is slightly more tense.  _I understand. However, those who have hurt others deserve their punishment. Hagrid broke the rules. I promise you, the one who hurt your friend deserves far worse than any wizard prison._

 _If he did it, yes._ Potter replies. He means to leave it at that, but the anxiety won't leave, so he continues, hardly aware of what he's saying anymore.  _I've been punished for what other people have done enough, and I've been the scapegoat so often that even I'm not sure what I'm to blame for, anymore!_

At first, Tom doesn't respond, and Potter thinks with a bitter stab that the boy only cares when he can twist things around to suit his goal. To be honest, Potter's not even sure why he's insisting that Tom's lying—the ministry had certainly believed that Hagrid was guilty, and they, at least, must have known the truth?—but he hates the idea of falsely accusing someone of anything, especially if… but no. He wasn't around fifty years ago, and he highly doubts that any of his relatives would have opened the Chamber if people's reactions to his placement in Slytherin are any indication of what his parents must have been like. He just can't shake the idea that he must be to blame for this, somehow. It must be his fault, somehow, and now he's dragging an innocent man down with him…

_I understand._

The diary, Potter distantly notes, doesn't absorb tears.


	36. Chapter 36

As much as Potter wants to dislike Tom, he quickly finds that the diary was the best Christmas present that he could have realistically received. Ron had given him a book about Quidditch, Mrs. Weasley had sent him another sweater with plum cake, and even Draco had left him a small bauble of some sort (Potter wasn't quite sure what it did yet, but he got the feeling that it was rather expensive), but with most of the students still waiting for the next small scale war to break out, he found that having a friend to talk to was more useful than anything else could have been. Besides, Harry seems to have taken an interest in it, even if he won't talk to Tom himself, and anything that helps Harry even a bit is heaven sent as far as Potter's concerned.

For his part, Tom seems to have warmed up a bit after their first interaction. Potter supposes that it must have been rather strange for him to find himself fifty years in the future and having to relate the details of a murder to a perfect stranger. Now that they're starting their relationship over in a more normal manner, the other boy seems far more relaxed. Sure, there's still something a bit off about him, but Potter knows that his own host is awkward enough that he's in no place to talk.

And so, day after day, he finds himself back in his dorms and writing back and forth with the diary. It's a bit of an inconvenient way to communicate as it does cause his hand to cramp rather quickly, but it beats the lonely silence that he's sure he would be living with otherwise. Besides, Tom's been promising to try and find out if he could take them to a fantasy, this time, instead of a memory, and while Potter isn't sure that he likes the idea of slipping into Riddle's mind again, if it means that they could actually interact in person for once, he doubts that he'll turn the offer down.

In this way, the break passes quickly, and before Potter knows it, school has resumed. To his intense surprise, he's almost happy to see Draco again, especially when Draco seems pleased with the Slytherin themed quill set that he sent him. Potter's not as thrilled about resuming classes, but while some teachers are still prone to glaring at him when they think that he's not looking, most of them seem to have calmed into pity, instead. It's still unnerving and painful, but the other students are less likely to pick up on the meaning behind it, so Potter supposes that he'll just have to get used to it.

As for the other students themselves, the tension seems to have died down. Those who went home for the holidays returned to Hogwarts rejuvenated, and without any recent attacks to speak of, there's no real reason for anyone to be attacking anyone else anymore. It's not much, but it's enough to allow Potter to begin to relax a bit. He allows himself to enter a conversation with Draco as they walk to Herbology together, and the system's even relaxed enough to let Lily start to peek out again.

"Harry!" they hear. Draco pauses mid-sentence, and Potter turns around to see Blaise jogging up to them, small package resting in his hand. "Here," Blaise offers. "I meant to mail it to you over break, but I decided last moment that I'd rather give it you in person. I hope you don't mind."

Draco watches curiously as Potter, after eyeing Blaise to make sure that it's okay, carefully removes the wrapping and opens the box. He's glad that his first instinct is to tighten his grip, for he's sure that he'd have dropped it otherwise. Inside rests a small snitch, but it looks old. He looks at Blaise questioningly, and his friend clarifies, "it was used back when your dad was at school. Just don't tell anyone; they didn't realize that my dad was the one who nabbed it in the first place!"

"Your parents won't mind this?" Potter questions even as he finds himself reaching out to stroke the snitch's wings. Blaise laughs.

"No, they won't. It's not like it'd be much use to my dad anymore… Besides, mom's so glad to hear that I'm socializing that it's painful."

"Thank you," Potter manages to whisper past the lump in his throat. Forcing himself to meet Blaise's eyes, he repeats his gratitude, pleased by the happy smirk that rests on their friend's mouth.

"Don't mention it," Blaise says. "I really liked your green thumb charm, by the way. Nice and hidden. I may actually pass Herbology now!" Inside, Lily's nearly dying with happiness. The gift was her idea, of course.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Blaise leaves to care for his mandrake, and Potter turns back to Draco. He's amused to note that Draco looks more than a little jealous, though over the fact that he received only a book on potions and a chocolate frog or that his own present paled in comparison, Potter can't tell. Either way, his own mood is greatly elevated by the time that he leaves the greenhouse.

When he finds his location abruptly changing from the hallways of Hogwarts to his dorm (robes missing, no less), he's almost surprised that he's not covered in blood, as well. After all, it's not like the universe ever likes to let him stay happy for too long! God forbid he ever start to feel like things might turn out alright.

He's so fed up that he's ready to just go to bed and stay there until he rots, but he realizes that it must be around dinner time, and when Draco returns, he's going to want some kind of explanation for where he was. He really should just go down and eat no matter how little he wants to deal with anyone else at the moment…

 _Miss me?_  he writes to Tom, laughing to himself that nothing makes talking to Tom more appealing than the realization that he should be doing something unpleasant instead.

Tom's reply is quick.  _Yes. I have nothing to do when you leave, and you haven't written to me in a few days._

 _Sorry,_ Potter writes,  _I was busy with school work._ Internally, he's wracking his memory, wondering when he last wrote to Tom. It was a few days ago, right? He only missed a few hours, right?

_Are you still here?_

_Sorry. I was distracted._

_Yes, I noticed,_ Tom writes. Potter doesn't respond. Now that he's actually talking to Tom, he's aware of just how strongly he'd prefer to be alone. Apparently, even dealing with one overly awkward student is too much right now. Maybe he should just say that Draco returned, or something, and make his exit.

_Is something wrong?_

Potter fiddles with his quill, unsure how to respond. Is it really worth it to make up a lie? Surely, it couldn't hurt if he told Tom a little bit of what's going on right now. If nothing else, it should be interesting to see how he'll react.

_I can't remember how I got into my room._

_Pardon?_  Tom asks, and Potter notes that they're back to overly formal language. Fine, then.

_Last I remember, I was walking in the halls after Herbology. I blacked out._

_That does sound rather disconcerting, but I'm certain it must be a result of stress. I'm sure that it's nothing to worry about._

Potter rolls his eyes. Really? Nothing to worry about? He can't tell if Tom is just humoring him or if he he's as reluctant as everyone else is to acknowledge Potter's abnormalities. Spurred by a sudden desire to prove that it's not normal, that  _he's_  not normal, Potter writes,  _This is has been happening for years, Tom. It's just the recent frequency that's unnerving me._

This time, it's Tom who takes a while to reply. His answer is simple.  _What?_

_Like you said, I'm sure that it's not a big deal. I'm sure that there are plenty of things that could be causing it._

Potter was sure that his answer would annoy Tom, but if it does, Tom doesn't show it. He replies,  _What kinds of things cause you to black out?_

_Stress, really. It's not a big deal. You said so yourself._

_There's a bit of a difference between blacking out once and losing time over the course of years! Is there any pattern to the black outs? What usually happens while you're gone?_

_I don't know? I'm not exactly there to witness it._ Potter considers telling Tom that sometimes, he is there to see his body acting outside of his control, but he figures that that might be a bit cruel. Playing innocent has never been his thing, anyway, so he adds,  _I don't think that anything really bad happens, though. I'm only worried now because one or two of the blackouts coincided with the attacks. On the other hand, this year has been incredibly stressful for me. Like I said before, the other students blame me, and wouldn't that be reason enough for my memory to begin failing me?_

 _That can't be it,_ Tom argues.  _No, that's…_

 _Since when are you the expert on blackouts?_ Potter's beginning to feel uneasy about this. On the other hand, Tom's nothing more than a memory trapped in a diary. What could he really do to hurt Potter? If he needs to get rid of Tom, he'll just make sure to do something more permanent than discard the diary in the loo. Fire is always a nice option, or perhaps wizards have a version of the muggle paper shredder.

 _Look,_ he writes,  _sorry for even bringing it up. I already know what's causing the blackouts, and it wasn't fair of me to pretend like I didn't. Like I said, it's just the timing that has me out of whack. It's honestly nothing to worry about._

This time, the response is immediate.  _What is causing them, then?_  Silence.  _... goddamnit, Potter!_

Maybe it's the muggle swear that does it, or maybe it's just the pull to talk to someone else who could understand the desire to avoid their "home" at all costs, but when Potter places his quill to the paper, he finds himself telling the truth.  _I have… Look, this is going to sound insane. I know that it will. But I have multiple personalities. They're not spirits, they're not just moods, and they're not evil. Some of us can even talk to each other, and it's not like I'm blacking out all of the time. It's just that occasionally, something bad happens, and then an alter takes the memories of it. I think that this time, it's just that someone new doesn't know how to be here at the same time as the rest of us, yet. Really, it's not a big deal as long as they really aren't the one behind the attacks and… well, I just have to have faith that none of us would do something like that. The alters themselves, it's just a response to trauma. We survived a few things while we younger that we couldn't have been able to handle if we had to deal with all of it at once. Our mind broke instead, and each of us have our own memories and perspectives of what happened. Some of us remained that, little more than memory holders, but some of us are our own people… now might be a good time to mention that I'm an alter, as well. I go by Potter, if you don't mind._

The ink fades, and Tom doesn't reply. Potter begins to wonder if even a fifty year old book with no one else to talk to would rather reject him than deal with his freakishness. He reminds himself to stay calm. Of course Tom isn't taking this well. Even the muggles didn't know much about MPD 50 years ago, so how strange must this sound to a wizard? He must think that Potter's possessed!

Still, it stings a bit. Potter's about to put the diary away when he notices a small response.

_I'm sorry to hear that._

Frustrated, Potter shoves the diary into his chest and gets ready for bed. If Draco asks, he'll just say that he's coming down with something. He'll figure out how to deal with judgmental diaries tomorrow.

Yet he doesn't. With the new term beginning, the teachers are back to dumping loads of homework on the students daily, and Potter's too busy to write to Tom. A few days later, Quidditch practice resumes, and he's too tired. It's not until Sunday that he even has a chance to catch his breath, and does he even want to talk to Tom in his only moment of free time?

But eventually, he begins to feel guilty. After all, he's had more than enough time to remember that Tom isn't the best conversationalist in the world. Of course he was awkward when learning that his only friend hears voices in his head! If nothing else, he deserves another chance to prove whether or not he'll be able to react better in the future.

 _Hey. I'm sorry for not replying for so long,_ he writes. He considers mentioning how busy he's been, but he's not that blind to himself, and he doubts that Tom would appreciate the hollow gesture either.

 _It's alright,_ Tom responds.  _Potter, correct?_

 _Yeah,_ Potter writes. He thinks of adding a 'Tom, right?' but thinks better of it. He's left with a lame  _How have you been?_  instead.

 _Bored,_ is Tom's blunt response. Then,  _Potter? Can I meet one of the others?_

He wasn't expecting this. He supposes that it must be a perfectly normal response to have, and he's honestly surprised that Ron and Hermione weren't keener to meet everyone all at once, but it makes him uneasy. He has to respond now- running again would be beyond rude- but he doesn't—

 _Oh, knock it off,_ James interjects, rolling his eyes.  _Move over. He wants to meet us, he can deal with me._

Potter glares, James glares back, and then James is out and writing to Tom in his customary chicken scratch.

_So, heard you wanted to meet one of us, eh?_

_Who is this?_

_Name's James. Tom, right?_

_Yes, that's correct. I believe that Potter is in his second year at Hogwarts, correct? How old are you?_

James stares in shock. It had always seemed like common knowledge to him that alters could be different ages, but he didn't know that outsiders would be able to guess that.

 _I'm 14,_ he responds,  _and Potter turned 16 over the summer. Even Harry's 15. We're not just some stupid little second year._

 _Your core isn't the same age as your body?_ Is the immediate response.

 _Bloody hell, you know what a core is?!_ James ignores Potter groaning in the background, something about using Tom's knowledge to trap him instead of being so blunt and losing future leverage. Merlin, what a snake.

 _I have access to certain things even from this diary,_ is Tom's terse reply.  _I did my research._

_Oh, thank Merlin! I was afraid we'd have to explain everything to you, and I was gonna freak. Even Ron and Hermione could do their own research- hell, Hermione did enough research for all of us!_

_You've told people about this?_

_Well no duh. It's not exactly the easiest condition in the world to hide, you know? Hermione went and guessed on us because she's bloody brilliant, and then she made us tell Ron, too. I think all the teachers know, but that's because Dumbledore went and blabbered._

_Dumbledore knows this?!_

Potter notes how messy Tom's handwriting has become.  _Does it matter?_ He carefully intervenes while glaring at James for neglecting to mention his own role in telling Ron about their condition.

_Forgive me. I simply don't trust Dumbledore._

_No one does!_ James replies, shoving Potter out of the way.  _But he figured out we were abused and then caught us switching, so…_

If James were a separate person, Potter would have thrown the diary at his head. What does he think that he's doing, giving so much away at once?! That's not Gryffindor bravery, it's proof that James isn't even remotely a Ravenclaw.

_He caught you… That's not good._

_You don't say,_ James responds, snorting to himself.

_How long ago was this? Why do you think that the teachers know? How long have you known about this yourselves?_

Potter physically grabs their right hand with his left, instructing James not to respond. James shrugs, acknowledging that he is beginning to feel a bit like a science experiment. Potter, however, feels that it's more than that. He doesn't know why Tom is so interested in this, but it strikes him the wrong way.

 _I'm sorry,_ he writes,  _but we need to go now. Our roommate just returned, and we don't want anyone else to know about this for obvious reasons. I'll talk to you tomorrow._

He closes the diary without waiting for a response.


	37. Chapter 37

It takes a while for Potter to fall asleep, but Tom has all the time in the world. After spending fifty years trapped in a diary, one learns to be patient, after all. The importance of the matter is only another reason to take things slowly, to make sure that he does this correctly. It's been years since he's even considered it, and he needs to ensure that it's really necessary before he attempts anything rash.

Finally, Potter's mind quiets, and Tom slips inside. For a moment, he feels something stir, and he fears that a mind already so used to the presence of others will have no problem detecting him, asleep or not. But he feels no struggle and, after a minute, deems it safe to continue.

It's refreshing to approach the Chamber from the dungeons. When he'd first tried to use Ginny's body, he'd been horribly disorientated. It hadn't helped that she was female, either. He has nothing against the female body, nothing at all, but Potter's is just so much more familiar. He finds himself taking longer than necessary to examine his surroundings, to feel the weight of his bare feet against the cold stone pathway. For a moment, he considers abandoning his mission entirely. Why must he act so quickly? It's been years since he's been outside, and the night looks lovely from what he can see through Hogwart's windows. He could go outside and rest by the lake for a while. Even if he was caught, he's sure that Potter wouldn't mind. If Potter's so used to sharing a body already, he might even let Tom experience some things on his own. If he really tried, Tom might even be able to convince himself that he's just gathering information...

He can't. Tom can't risk angering him, and if he does this correctly, he'll be so  _pleased_  with him. No, better to wait. He's sure that he'll get the opportunity to enjoy himself again soon.

He's almost to his destination, now. He's walking slower, and he knows that he doesn't want to do this. How many attacks has it been now? Three? Four? How many more people will have to be hurt before this can stop? Tom finds himself rubbing the hands as if he can feel blood dripping down between the fingers. It's silly of him, and he knows it. Why would there be blood on Potter's hands? He's done nothing wrong. No, the one who deserves to be stained by his guilt would relish in the feeling. He'll never be punished, and they all know it.

Before he's even aware of what he's doing, Tom finds himself hunched down in a corner, hidden by the shadows of a coat of armor. His breath catches in his throat, and he wills Potter's body to still. It takes him another few moments to notice what his unconscious mind had already honed in on, well practiced at avoiding detection. Someone is coming.

Tom's eyes widen. He closes them, but when he opens them again, nothing's changed. The man stumbling past him is Severus Snape, and he looks worse than Tom's ever seen him. Oh, Tom knows how devastated Snape must have been after Lily died, but he would swear that the professor has to look worse now. His eyes look practically sunken into his head, and he looks like a man haunted by demons. Tom's eyes track Snape as the man makes his way slowly down the corridor, stopping often as if lost. Even once Snape's disappeared, Tom finds himself frozen, mind whirring.

Why does Severus look like that? What changed? It was only so long ago that Tom saw the professor through Ginny's eyes, and he had looked healthy enough then, if a bit brooding. What could have happened over the course of a few months to destroy a man as proud as Severus Snape?

It hits him suddenly, and he jerks to his feet, heart racing. How long ago had the teachers learned of Potter's condition? He slaps a hand over his mouth to trap the laughter bubbling up. So this is how the professors at the great Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, react to learning that one of their students was abused? They don't confront him over it. They won't speak to him about it or try to make sure that he's okay. They don't even make an effort to have him placed somewhere safe. No, they stare at him as if he's tainted. They whisper behind his back and make him guess for himself what he did wrong. They mope around the school as if there's some grand weight on them. Do they not understand that the weight that Potter carries is so much more significant than their own? Do they really think that they're the ones suffering?

The urge to laugh has only grown, and Tom slumps against a wall, gasping as quietly as he can for breath. Something's twisting and turning inside of him, and for a second, he understands how Voldemort was birthed from the same soul.

And then there's  _magic_.

It swirls around him, hovering close to the skin, filling every pour. In a sense, it's good and pure, as all magic must be. But beneath it all, it's tainted, dirty and cruel, sick. Dark and twisted, seeking to rot him from the inside out. It's horribly familiar, but at the same time, strange and entirely new. It's not his. Tom recognizes that much. This feeling, this magic, is Potter's, but… it's not.

He knows what he has to do.

XXXXX

It's much darker than he had remembered, and he finds this strangely fitting. The chamber itself shows no sign of aging, but the doorways are etched deeper into the walls than ever before. Tom takes his place by the third and waits. He has no sense of time here, and he has no reason to believe that they'll come. It's been years since he's acknowledged any of them, and he knows that many of them will dislike being disturbed. They barely tolerated each other from the beginning, and they parted on less than cordial terms. Perhaps Tom truly is alone, this time, well and truly abandoned.

They begin to arrive.

The first arrives silently, as if birthed from the shadows. The shadows hide his face, now, as he takes his place by the second door, but Tom can feel the strength of his stare. He doesn't speak, and he doesn't reply. All of the things between them that could be said are hollow and worthless, and neither is fond of useless speech.

A child comes next, but he's no more cheerful than the first. He steals quickly to the first real door, shivering as if enveloped by cold. He's thin, painfully thin, more skeleton than living child. He jumps, though Tom detected no noise. A moment later, a young man is walking briskly towards the fourth door. When he's reached it, he pauses to turn, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. The first to arrive snorts, and the young man frowns. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, and his posture is tense. His eyes search out Tom's, but Tom shakes his head. Not yet.

It doesn't take long, and his arrival is so indiscernible that Tom finds himself wondering if he might have been there from the beginning. He gazes lazily around, looking at each of them in turn. Beside him, Tom feels the young man start.

"What is he doing here?" he demands.

"Now now, Thomas," the man admonishes, "calm yourself. I merely wish to observe."

"And report back to Voldemort, isn't that right?" Thomas laughs bitterly.

The man merely raises an eyebrow in response. "How perfectly absurd. You know as well as I that our dear friend wants nothing more to do with us. It's why he locked us up, after all."

"Locked us up!" Thomas scoffs. "I chose to leave, and I've never regretted it. Better locked up in a crown than privy to his foolishness."

The first snorts. "Oh, I'm sure. The crown suits you rather well, you fucking faggot."

"Still as mature as a first year, I see," Thomas replies, rolling his eyes. Tom bristles at the comment and quickly intervenes.

"Do you think that I called all of you together to bicker like a bunch of school girls?"

"I don't care why you called us," the first says bluntly. "I was rather glad that you were the first to go. Well, I would have preferred it be Tommy, but I suppose we can't always have what we want in life."

"Marvolo!" Thomas yells, flushing with anger. Tommy himself seems undisturbed by the drama around him, and Tom wonders if there's ever a reprieve in the boy's head. Somehow, he doubts it, and the anger rejuvenates him.

"So you don't want to know about The Silent?"

As if that was their cue, the others all fall silent themselves. Only the man has the poise to look Tom in the eyes and ask, "What are you talking about, Tom?"

"I've found him," Tom answers, resisting the urge to add a childish, it's too bad that you don't want to hear more.

"Where, Tom?"

"In Harry Potter."

This time, no one speaks. Even Tom feels almost afraid to break the quiet, but he feels that he must. He's the reason that they're here, after all.

"He found my diary. No, that's not correct. Potter found my diary. I don't believe that I've met Harry yet, though I could be mistaken."

"You shut the fuck up," Marvolo explodes, throwing himself forwards. "You little bitch liar, you—"

Within a moment, the man's crossed over to Marvolo and has him slammed against a wall. "Let him speak."

Tom swallows hard and continues, "He's like us. I don't know why, yet, but there's no doubt about it. I've met one of his others, James. Everything about them is different, down to their very magical core. I don't know how they all manage to use one wand; I suppose they never grew past it, as we did, but… When I possessed them tonight, I felt another. It's The Silent, I swear to you."

"And you're sure of this?" The man questions coldly. "If you're incorrect, Tom, you will not like the consequences. You are sure?"

Tom nods, and the man releases Marvolo. The teen coughs and then spits near the man's foot. "Fucking Riddle," he spits as if the name is a curse. "Same as always."

"As are you," Riddle responds mildly, returning to his place by the entrance.

"So what will we do?" Thomas asks.

Before Tom can say anything, Riddle answers, "Befriend the boy, of course. He'll be lonely and desperate to meet someone like himself. It sounds like he trusts Tom; I doubt that he would reveal his secret lightly. Let things progress slowly, as naturally as possible. There is no reason for us to make our decision so soon."

"And Voldemort?" Thomas insists. "I doubt that he'll let things rest. Oh, he'll never notice us, but do you really imagine that he'll allow the boy to be?"

"He's already failed one attempt at Potter's life." Riddle smiles a cold, empty smile that chills Tom to the bone. "Perhaps the next will go as poorly."

The unspoken  _perhaps not_  compels Tom into action.

"I don't want to hurt him." Riddle levels a stare at him, and Marvolo's muttering something about this being unsurprising, but Thomas is nodding in approval, and it gives Tom the courage that he needs to continue.

"I really don't. I see no reason to make him our enemy. Yes, I'm aware of the prophecy, as are we all. I see no reason to fear it, however. If only Harry can destroy us, why give him reason to do so? Even if he attacks Voldemort, we've already seen that we'll survive. If he can destroy our  _dear_  front and leave us alive, all the better. As Riddle said, he'll be desperate for a friend. Why not be that for him?"

"I suppose you're not as stupid as you look," Marvolo says boldly. Thomas rolls his eyes even while nodding at Tom in approval. Tom holds his breath and looks to Riddle.

"I suppose there's no reason, at the moment, to do anything but as you have suggested," the man finally answers, and Tom lets out a breath in relief. Riddle continues, "We'll have to give him reason to trust us, of course. Allow him to know us as we are, but breathe not a word of our connection to Lord Voldemort. He may learn, but… all in good time."

_All in good time._


	38. Chapter 38

"Merlin, Harry!" Draco exclaims, gesturing at Potter's sleeve which has, for the fifth time in the past hour alone, wound its way into his ink bottle. "What's gotten into you?"

"Sorry," Potter says, but even as he's cleaning up, his mind is drifting elsewhere. He's been like this all day, and he nearly blew up a cauldron in Potions over it, but he just can't stop thinking about what he'd found written in the diary this morning.

 _I have multiple personalities, as well,_ Tom had written.  _I'm sorry. I should have told you this before, but I believe that you'll understand why I was nervous. I almost thought that you were mocking me, at first, but of course you couldn't be. No one even knew to begin with, and I don't believe that you could fake your magical signatures like that. Please forgive me for my initial distrust._

The question, of course, was could Potter trust  _him_? James certainly didn't. He was very insistent that Tom was just lying to make them trust him more. If he had alters, where were they? Wouldn't it have been more convincing for him to have had one of them write his little note? Besides, what were the odds of them finding someone else with multiple personalities? The books were all very adamant about the disorder being incredibly rare. Even before they'd known what they suffered from, none of them had ever expected to find anyone else quite like them, not after they'd realized just how unusual it was to have other people in your body with you. So how could Tom have the same condition?

"Potter!" Draco shouts, and Potter comes back to himself just in time to avoid knocking ink all over his parchment for Herbology.

"Thanks," he says, but Draco just raises an eyebrow.

"You're worse than Longbottom," he says bluntly. "Just go to bed already. I'll tell everyone at dinner that studying so much for Potions last night made you sick." When Potter begins to protest, he glares. "Look, I'll even bring you up a roll or something. Just stop trying to get things done. You obviously can't concentrate right now."

"Thanks," Potter sighs, trying not to be annoyed. Draco is right, after all. The problem is that even after a day of preoccupation with the matter, Potter's still not sure how to confront Tom. Should he just ask to meet Tom's supposed alters and hope that Tom isn't a good actor? Does it really change anything either way? Should it?

Draco makes a loud coughing noise, and Potter realizes that he had stopped in the middle of the stairs. Turning a bit red, he rushes up to their dorm and closes the door tightly behind him. Might as well just get this over with.

 _Tom?_ He starts to write, thinks better of it, and adds,  _if that's your name, that is._

The answer is immediate.  _I told you to call me Tom, and I meant it. Try any other variation and you might be referencing someone else, whether you know it or not._

_Who all's in there, then?_

Potter imagines Tom to be laughing a bit when replies with,  _that's not really a fair question to ask. You didn't tell me that about yourself, after all. But there's around eight of us, if I'm not mistaken._

 _That's actually not that many,_ Potter finds himself writing.  _Well,_ he corrects himself,  _the books say that the average number of alters is twelve, I think? But we have more than that. I suppose we got skilled at creating new ones._

_Do you know a lot about this, then? I tried to find out more myself, but all that I was able to find is that it's called Multiple Personality Disorder, and it's very rare. I could find examples of a few older case studies, so I know that it's not too unusual that we can communicate with each other to some extent, but though I found a reference to alters being different ages or genders, even species, none of those written about seemed quite as developed as we are. Of course, it's always possible that our magic use further splintered our mind._

_I don't think so. Well, it is possible, but I think that most people just don't want to acknowledge how separate alters can be. There's a lot of debate about it right now. Some people think that we're all just copying some woman with MPD, Sybil. Others expect us to all be frozen child ego states, or something. It's all a bit silly, honestly._

_People never like to acknowledge child abuse,_ Tom replies quickly and sharply, the letters digging into the paper.  _Of course they'd prefer to deny that someone with MPD is telling the truth about their past._

Potter is unsure how to respond to that, and silence falls between the two boys. Potter knows that he can't ask about Tom's childhood yet, but curiosity burns through him. Despite his initial misgivings, he finds himself yearning to know more about Tom. Underneath everything, despite all of the lingering doubt, is the strongest sense of companionship that he's ever felt. Tom is like they are. They're not  _alone_  anymore.

Unable to hold back any longer, Potter asks,  _can I meet one of your others, then?_

There's another pause, and Potter's becoming afraid that he's offended his new friend when Tom finally writes,  _I'll have to ask them, but I don't see why not. Would you mind returning in another hour or so?_

Potter has a feeling that this will be a very long hour.

XXXXX

Night falls before Potter can speak to Tom again. Though he knows that Tom won't mind, he finds himself childishly nervous that he might have angered him. It's with great relief that he sees Tom amicably waiting for him when he opens the diary.

_Are you alright with entering my mind again? I believe that I can take you to where I go to communicate with the other alters._

_Of course,_ Potter writes eagerly. He obediently presses his eye up against the window that appears in the journal and waits. This time, he's not caught off guard by the long fall, and he examines his new location with much interest. He's a bit surprised by how dark the chamber is, and it's hard for him to make anything out. He does recognize that the chamber, like his own internal world, has various offshoots for the different alters. However, there seems to be no other furnishing, and he decides that it must be a rather desolate place to have to live. Perhaps the other alters, like Tom, live in different objects?

"How do you do that?" he finds himself asking. Blushing a bit at his manners, he looks around for Tom and finds him standing by the third doorway. To his relief, he doesn't seem annoyed, just thoughtful, as if debating how to phrase what he'll next say.

"I assume that you're not referring to this?" he asks, gesturing around him, and Potter nods. "Well—I'm not sure how I can show you anything, to be honest, let alone allow you into our mind like this, though I do have my theories. As for why I live in a book… it's a long story. As I've told you before, I wished to preserve myself and my memories. It was very complex magic that I cast, and it worked better than expected. I can leave my diary and return to the body as I please… though I rarely do so."

"Do the others live in their own objects?"

Tom nods, and Potter studies him closely. Now that he can see him in person and not through the lens of a memory, he's struck by how similar they look. Tom has a certain maturity about him, however, and a strength that Potter envies. He seems similar to his own body, as well, and though Potter's close enough that he doesn't necessarily mind the differences, he wishes that Harry's body had the same natural grace and poise of Tom's.

Tom catches him staring and raises an eyebrow. It's such a typical Slytherin reaction that Potter laughs, and Tom relaxes a bit.

"So," Potter grins, "Where are they?" He follows Tom's gaze into the corner and finds himself meeting the eyes of a well dressed young man.

The man nods at him. "It's Thomas. Potter, I assume?"

Potter nods back, struck by the same strangely formal air that Tom carries. He hopes that they won't think any less of him for his more casual manner. Maybe he should try to change that a bit.

"It's nice to meet you," he offers, and Thomas cocks his head to the side as if studying something particularly odd.

"I wasn't sure that I'd really get to meet you, you know. After all, you're no legilimens, and it's not exactly typical to fall into someone's mind by accident, invited or not. But then, I suppose that the circumstances aren't ordinary, either." He pauses. "I wonder if we could access your mind so easily?"

"Thomas!" Tom exclaims as Potter takes an automatic step backwards. Thomas is laughing as if he meant it as a joke, but Potter's not so sure. Still, he seems to have been accepted, and that's all that matters at the moment.

"Will you show him any of the others?" Thomas asks Tom. Tom shrugs in response, and Thomas nods. "Probably wise. You and I are the most normal of them, and that's saying something."

"Are you trying to scare him off?" Tom demands, and Potter finds himself relaxing. He's never had a sibling—Dudley, barely even a cousin, didn't remotely count—but he imagines that the same easy relationship would exist between brothers. It's the same relationship that he has with many of the others inside, and it makes him feel at home. He feels like he could really belong here—here, with Tom and the others.

It's too dark for him to read the smile on Thomas's face.


	39. Chapter 39

Potions seems to be dragging on forever. Even if Snape didn't look so troubled- in fact, he looks more and more distressed by the day- Potter would still be anxious to leave. People have been wearing his nerves thin all day, and he really just wants to be able to talk to Tom about it. After all, who else could he gripe to about Jay's refusal to help with Potions even though it's the only thing that she's really good at? It's not like Ron would understand, and if he tried to tell Ron about how Petal seems determined to starve them to death for "telling," the poor boy would probably have a heart attack. Even with the entire school seeming hell bent on knowing all of his business, Potter's managed to hide what must otherwise look like an eating disorder, and he's not at all keen on that changing. He's seen this school's idea of "help," and he wants nothing to do with it.

Tom, though. Surely Tom's dealt with alters that try to punish the body before? Potter's read that that's really common in DID because of internalized hatred or abusive messages. Maybe Tom could actually help them?

Finally, class ends, and Potter practically runs to his dorm. He knows that he shouldn't seem so eager or people will wonder what, exactly, he's so looking forward to (conversing with the monster in the Chamber, no doubt), but at the moment, he can't be brought to care. His stomach is beginning to ache again, he's got a hunger headache, and he really has no patience for his ignorant peers at the moment.

 _Hey Tom,_ he writes, secluding himself in their bed.

 _Hello, Potter,_ Tom replies immediately, and Potter tries not to acknowledge how much calmer he's already becoming.

 _I was wondering,_ he writes,  _do you have any experience with persecutors? Alters who hurt the body, I mean._

_Is Petal still giving you trouble?_

_Yes, and now Jay's refusing to help us in Potions. We're lucky that Harry himself is pretty decent, or we'd be failing. Well, possibly. I'm not sure if Snape even looks at what we do anymore, or if he's just giving us full marks to try to stop his own guilt._

Potter can actually distantly feel Tom's distaste as the boy answers,  _You suffer through too much right now. I'm sure that Jay and Petal would be well behaved if it weren't for the behavior of your professors. They treat you as if you're trash._

 _Not all of them act like that!_ Potter insists, though he's unsure why he's scrambling to defend any of his professors at the moment.  _They're just out of their league._

_You can't be the first abused child that they've ever met._

_The DID complicates things._

_How?_

Potter pauses. That's a good question. Yes, he knows that the disorder is nothing that the professors are familiar with, but surely they believe that he was abused. So why aren't they helping him any? Why have none of them tried to talk to him or make sure that he's alright? They all look at him with pity, but why won't they actually express any of it?

To his horror, a tear manages to slip onto the paper. Hoping to distract Tom, he writes quickly,  _No wonder they're so angry, then. I suppose that they must feel the need to… to get us used to being hated, again…_ The thought makes him sick. Suddenly, he's aware of how tired he is. It's a bone deep sort of tired, and with it comes the strongest wave of apathy and hopelessness that he's felt since returning to Hogwarts. What good can he even do? Perhaps Jay and Petal are right to make him feel isolated and hated. Isn't that the reality of their situation? They're toxic. No one wants anything to do with them. It's a miracle that Hermione accepted them, but perhaps she was just unaware of how utterly and completely they were broken…

 _I'm sorry,_ Tom writes, and Potter distantly notes that the tear has, in fact, been absorbed.  _Is there anything at all that we can do to help you?_

 _I don't know,_ Potter admits.  _Really, don't worry about it. We'll be fine. Besides, you help enough already._

_Do I?_

Potter manages to crack a small smile at the skepticism seeping from Tom's words.  _Yes, you do. We've never been able to talk to someone else like us before. It's nice._

Tom's silent for a minute, and Potter inwardly scoffs about how awkward their friend is when it comes to expressing emotions. When time keeps stretching without a response, he begins to feel uneasy. He's not worried about why Tom's not responding, but the lack of distraction isn't doing him well. Hurriedly, trying to force back the emotions that threaten to rush in, he puts down his pen to continue when Tom finally replies.

_Please tell me if anyone hurts you again._

_I… thank you, Tom, but what do you plan to do? You're trapped in a diary._ This time, Tom makes no indication that he's going to respond at all, and, feeling more uneasy than ever, Potter replaces the diary in its charmed hidden compartment of his suitcase and goes down for dinner.

"What took you so long?" Draco asks him, and Potter just shrugs. He's not really in the mood to chat anymore, especially not with the Herculean task of getting dinner in front of him. Perhaps he needs to get Draco off of his back, though. He can't have him noticing that he won't eat all that much.

"So," he begins, "planning to do anything special tomorrow?" He laughs as Draco then shoves him into Blaise, who's sitting beside him.

"Shut it, Potter!" Draco barks, and even Pansy begins to snigger. Face red, Draco turns back to his meal, and, smirking widely, Potter does the same. He can't help but tease the boy. Maybe if Draco would just admit who it is that he likes so much, there wouldn't be anything to tease. Instead, after being forced to admit that there was someone who he wished he could spend his Valentine's Day with, Draco refused to say anything more on the subject, and now the entire Slytherin house is having a riot trying to figure out who his secret crush is. It seems like they've inquired about every girl in the school and most of the boys, but Draco's good at dredging up some reason to scorn all of them, and if nothing else, Potter knows that he's a frighteningly good liar. Shame.

With the attention off of himself, Potter's able to hide most of the uneaten food in his napkins. He can feel Petal's internal approval, so maybe she won't try to keep him awake all night with nightmares.

But, when night rolls around, most of the restless frustration comes from Potter himself, and they remain awake until dawn.

XXXXX

"What on earth has he  _done_?" Draco asks in horror.

Potter's inclined to agree.  _Harry,_ he nudges inside,  _come look at this._

Reluctantly, Harry comes to front, something obviously troubling him. Then he glances around the Great Hall and his expressions changes to one of confusion.  _What the hell?_

Apparently, this is Lockhart's doing. The professor's making a speech now about how he's prepared a surprise for his beloved students, forty-six of who sent him cards. His eyes flitter to Harry for a moment, as if Harry should have been included in that number, and Harry looks away in disgust. The rest of the hall isn't exactly a sight for sore eyes, though. There's pink flowers on the wall, heart shaped confetti coming from the ceiling, and now- and now!- dwarves are entering the room dressed as Cupid to deliver Valentine's. It's the most terrifying thing that Harry's ever seen. The only good thing is when Lockhart proclaims that Snape is a master at making Love Potions, and the professor begins to glare so hard that Harry fears his eyes might drop from his head in order to attack Lockhart. It's a very cheerful thought, and Petal lets him enjoy his (pink) breakfast in peace.

He's not laughing when, as he approaches Charms, one of the dwarfs stops him and insists that he has to deliver a musical message in front of a crowd of first years. Face burning red, he's forced to listen to the humiliating ballad. Draco manages to push his way through the crowd before it's over, too, and Harry knows that he'll never hear the end of this. Glaring at Draco will only stop so much, and the look on his face is as if Christmas has come early.

Ginny, on the other hand, looks absolutely mortified from her attempted hiding place behind another first year. Harry tries to smile at her, but all that he can manage is a grimace. It doesn't seem to help much, and Harry switches his goal to trying to disappear in the crowd.

"Nice one, Potter," he hears Draco snicker from behind him, and he regrets Potter mocking him the night before.

"Oh, bugger off," he says in exasperation.

Draco, nonplussed replied, "Did you see Ginny's face? I suppose that she was hoping you'd react better to her little love note?"

" _Ginny_  sent that? I would have expected her to be slightly more poetic," he grumbles. Draco laughs with delight, and he manages to smile grimly. Frankly, he doesn't care  _who_ sent it. It's not like he really admires any of the girls that he knows. Sure, Hermione was nice, but it wasn't like she was very attractive.

 _Hey, she wasn't-!_  Potter automatically protests, and Harry bites back a laugh.

 _Good to know,_ he replies.

As they reach Charms, Potter finally says,  _I mean, she was rather cute. You really never noticed that?_

Harry just shrugs a bit, not bothering to reply. Thankfully, Draco doesn't seem to care that he's no longer feeling very talkative. The looks he's receiving from their peers are slightly more amused than normal, less malicious, but it's more embarrassing, and he'd prefer not to draw attention to himself right now.

 _Really, though,_ Potter persists as class begins and Lily takes over.  _There's no one that you like?_

Harry's face turns a bit red at that, and he won't meet Potter's eyes.  _Our classmates are all idiots. No, I don't like any of them._

…  _that's a bit suspicious sounding, you know… You don't like a teacher, do you? Because I swear to god Harry!_

 _No! No, that's disgusting. They're all so_ old _, that's nasty._

Potter snorts, though he's a bit relieved. Now having some idea who this mystery crush of Harry's is, he teases,  _what, you don't like a Muggle, do you?_

 _I don't_ like  _anyone. I just think that someone happens to be more sexually attractive than they should be. It's not remotely the same thing._

 _Right!_ Potter snorts, now fully delighted by the way that this is going. In truth, he's relieved to see that Harry's capable of getting a crush. The body may be only 12, but Harry's 15, and his lack of attraction of any sort to any person was beginning to worry him.

 _So,_ he says casually,  _this crush of yours. He doesn't happen to be named some variation of Thomas, does he?_

 _Shut up,_ is Harry's immediate response, and the core withdraws from the front of their mind. Still laughing to himself, Potter turns around to see James staring at him, face unreadable.

_Oh, you caught that, did you?_

When James doesn't react at all, Potter sobers a bit.  _James?_

 _That's sick,_ James spits, and Potter is stunned as effectively as if he had been hit with a well aimed Stupefy.

 _W-what?_ He splutters.  _James, you can't be serious!_

James eyes are darker than usual and without a trace of humor.  _I should have known that there was something wrong with him. Fucking faggot. I can't believe that I'm in his goddamn head, that's…_

Before Potter can say a word, James has disappeared. With a sinking feeling, Potter remembers just how much Vernon had hated homosexuals.

Will they never catch a break?


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger Warning for homophobia and a line of explicit sexual speech

He's been chewing the same bite of scone for minutes now, but the idea of swallowing makes him feel sick. The bite has turned to paste in his mouth, but he can't bring himself to wash it down with any tea. He'll be allowed water, maybe, if he's lucky. If Draco has enough sense to stop staring at him from the corner of his eyes, he may even be allowed to put butter on the next bite. After all, Petal's always more reasonable when she doesn't feel like they're relying on their friends, and the idea that any of them might actually like Draco as more than a friend infuriates her.

The whole thing is ridiculous, but at this point, Potter knows better than to resist. What's the point? Obviously, this hasn't blown over in a few days like he thought that it would, and he's not sure that he wants to see what will happen if he doesn't play along. What's Petal waiting for, though? He's always known that she's a little dense, but she knows better than to expect that starving Harry to death will magically make him straight. So what's her deal? Is this just another excuse to torture the lot of them?

Her answering smirk, much as she tries to hide it, is answer enough. At least he can swallow now.

It's with a pounding head and lethargic muscles that Potter drags himself to Potions. As has become typical, Jay refuses to help him so much as set up their station, though the instructions on the board look more challenging than ever. To Potter's relief, partners are allowed today, and Draco wordlessly helps him prepare their ingredients. At first, Draco was confused by their sudden change from Potions guru to average at best, but he must have noticed that they're not eating right or sleeping well anymore, and his response seems to be helping when he can, giving them space when he can't. Potter's not sure if that's exactly how one should be reacting, but he's grateful nonetheless.

Besides, a few times throughout the lesson, Jay's knowledge does slip through, as if she's yearning to help out but can't bring herself to abandon her grudge. Potter wonders if he should thank her to make her feel "appreciated," but he's fairly certain that she'd leave completely if he drew attention to her "weakness," so he lets it be. There's no chance that she's going to relent right now; after months of being the harsh one, now James is even angrier than she is, and she refuses to be the softer twin. It could be some sort of sick way of bonding with her sibling, Potter supposes. He chuckles darkly and notes that Draco actually flinches a bit.

James smiles at that, and Potter's moment of good humor falls away.

 _What is with you?_ He demands as they walk to Herbology.  _Really, what the hell is your problem? Harry's not hurting anyone. Heck, you can't even claim that he's hurting himself; you know he'd never actually want to date anyone, he's too socially phobic for that._

 _I don't care!_ James insists.  _It's fucking sick, and it needs to be purged from him._

_And how do you plan to do that? From isolating him from everyone except the very person he has a crush on? You're absolutely brilliant, James, really._

James pales and starts spluttering at that, and Potter shuts him out in irritation. He tries to remind himself that James can't help it, that if Vernon had gotten a whiff of this while they still lived with him, they'd be on the streets by now, but he can't help it. What is with people and getting all worked up over something that's none of their business?

"Are you alright?" A voice cuts through his thoughts.

Potter nods, forcing himself to smile at Blaise. Hesitantly, Lily takes his place, and the two begin to chat. Blaise still looks worried, but less so; used to Lily, he's never done well with meeting one of the others, and it makes Potter uneasy. Blaise is perceptive, after all. He may be a pureblood, but he notices things that others don't, and Merlin knows that they have enough things that they need to keep hidden.

Blaise doesn't seem like he wants to harm them, though. He's smiling at Lily in a way that Potter hopes James won't notice.

Professor Sprout starts the lesson, and Blaise and Lily begin to care for their mandrakes. There's a certain sadness to Lily's movements, but only a few students eye her with any sympathy. A few are full outright glaring, and even James's anger seems to have increased. Professor Sprout is one of the teachers that seems to view them as something delicate and fragile, but her worry only frustrates the students who blame them for the attacks. As the lesson drags on, the palpable anger thickens the air around them.

"How are you mandrakes coming along, Harry?" a feminine voice asks with syrupy sweetness, surprising Lily and causing her to jump a bit. The responding chuckle borders on cruel. Lily peeks over her shoulder to see Daphne staring back at her, arms crossed over her chest.

"They're doing well, thank you," Lily tries, turning back to the soil pot in front of her. "How are yours coming along?"

"Oh, just peachy," Daphne all but snarls. Lily winces, wondering how someone could have carried a grudge as long as their classmate's managed to. It's been over a year since Jay and Daphne got into a spat, so why won't Daphne just leave them alone? Maybe she dislikes the attention that they're receiving lately? Lily knows that she's been telling her friends that they should have been expelled by now, though Lily's just as certain that Daphne would be delighted if she knew that it was someone else opening the Chamber.

((TW))

"So," Daphne says, interrupting Lily's thoughts and taking a step closer to trap Lily against the table, "Kill any good Mudbloods lately? Oh, that's right! You haven't killed anyone yet, have you? No, just frozen them. Did you fuck their frozen bodies, enjoying how they couldn't fight back? I know you're not getting anything from anyone alive, so… Oh, is that why you went for Granger? Did she refuse to be the fuck doll of the great Boy Who Murders Mudbloods?"

((/TW))

Lily shuts her eyes, wishing that she was anywhere but here. She hears Daphne take yet another step closer, and she imagines that she's not standing in front of her, waiting to see if anyone will help her, like prey. She's floating somewhere on the ceiling, watching Professor Sprout and Neville completely wrapped up in caring for a mandrake, watching Draco caught up trying to make someone else do his work, watching Blaise…

"Leave him alone," Blaise says quietly, staring intensely at Daphne. Most people would have given up, then. Blaise is known for having a cruel temper, and most of the Slytherin girls admire him. Daphne, however, seems infuriated that anyone would dare confront her.

"Worried about Potter, are you?" Daphne sneers, seeming to enjoy the way that the entire greenhouse has fallen silent to listen to her, "Are you some kind of faggot or something?"

It's too much. Before Blaise can respond, they're up from the bench and storming out of the room. Potter hears a few people snickering, but he doesn't care. If they mess with him again, he'll hex them into oblivion.

The anger is foreign and strange, and Potter knows that it can't be his. James is behind him, he realizes, but the anger is deeper than anything James should be experiencing. It's twisted and cruel, and it's tinged with such sharp malevolence that it makes Potter a bit sick. Whoever's holding that anger is leading them down to the dungeons now with quick, heavy footsteps. Their hands have clenched around their wand so tightly that Potter almost fears that it's going to break.

((Tw: homophobia))

"Harry!" Blaise's voice calls out, and the alter stops, going completely still, muscles shivering as if they're about to strike.

"Harry," Blaise repeats, stopping a few paces behind them. The alter is staring up at the ceiling in barely concealed hatred, not bothering to turn around. This doesn't bother Blaise.

"They shouldn't have said that. It doesn't matter if someone is gay. Pansy just wanted to get attention."

"Are you gay?" Is his only response. The voice is deceptively calm, but there's an undercurrent of disgust.

"Does it matter?" Blaise shoots back, automatically on the defensive.

"How could it not?" Now the disgust is openly displaced, and the alter turns around, looking as if he wants to strangle Blaise on the spot.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Blaise demands, and the alter takes a menacing step forwards.

"What's wrong with  _me_? At least I'm not an abomination."

Blaise gives a short laugh, and Potter can see the strain in his hands and neck. "Abomination? What, for being friendly to you?"

"Do. You. Like. Men."

"So what if I do?"

"Then you're vile." Their eyes are wide, and they're breathing in the same heavy manner as a wild horse, as Vernon when he's particularly angry.

" _Vile_ ," the voice repeats. "God didn't make this world for faggots like you! You're a disease, a cancer to the world! You're fucking sick. Little sissy faggots like you don't even deserve to be in my sight, you  _unnatural, freakish_ -"

"Since when do you believe in God?" Blaise asks, and Potter has insane the urge to laugh. Of course that would be the part of his speech that affects Blaise the most.

"Don't you talk back to me, Boy!" he roars. Blaise's eyes widen, and he draws his wand.

"You're not Harry," he whispers, knowledge lighting his face. His expression turns grim. "If you take one step closer or do anything to hurt Harry," he warns, "I'll set boils onto your skin. You can't remove them, can you?"

The alter starts, eyes going wide in terror. "You're one of them," it hisses, "another of those freaks!" His eyes dart wildly around, and he backs up as if looking for a corner to hide in.

"Don't like magic, huh?" Blaise asks, a strange glimmer in his eyes. "Good." With a flick of his wrist, he lights the bottom of their robe on fire. Their mouth forms a perfect "O" of horror before their legs suddenly give out.

((/TW))

"Augamenti," Lily whispers, putting out the small flame. She's shaking, but she tries not to show it. She has to put this out of mind. It doesn't matter what just happened. She has to concentrate on what's happening now. Nothing really happened before, nothing at all. Everything is fine, and now she can talk to Blaise because she's perfectly fine because nothing happened.

"Harry?" Blaise asks. Lily stares at the ground, cheeks flaming. Slowly, she shakes her head.

"May I ask who this is, then?"

Lily winces at how stiff his voice is, but explains quietly, "Lily. You… I'm the one that you know best. We have… it's called Dissociative Identity Disorder… um, can we discuss this somewhere else? I really don't want anyone to overhear us…"

Potter's not sure how anyone could overhear them because frankly, he's surprised that Blaise managed to hear them with how soft spoken Lily's being, but Blaise nods and walks with them into their dorm, where Lily immediately locks the door and goes to sit on their bed. She won't stop fiddling with the blanket, and her nerves are easy to see.

"Dissociative Identity Disorder?" Blaise prods, and Lily nods.

"Multiple Personality Disorder. It's...a muggle thing, I don't know if you've heard of it. Basically, when bad things happen repeatedly to children, they can't always handle it. They pretend that they're someone else when they're being hurt, and eventually, they start to believe this. The part of them that gets hurt is a different part of their mind, and it becomes more and more separate over time. We're not parts anymore, not really, or moods, or… spirits, or anything. We're all different people, really. We just share a body."

"And who was that before?"

Lily swallows hard, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "I think that was our uncle," she whispers. Silence stretches, and then, to her relief, Blaise changes the subject.

"How many of you are there?"

"I'm not sure," Lily admits, "because I've never seen that alter before, and I'm not sure who else may be in hiding. But I think that there might be around 20 of us. There's only three other girls that I know of, and one of them hasn't actually been active in a long time. There's a pretty large range of ages, though…"

"How old are you, then?" Blaise asks in surprise.

"I'm the same age as the body," Lily says, "but Harry and Potter are both older. Uh, Potter's the hosts, he uses the body the most often… Harry was the one born here…"

Blaise brakes in. "Is there anywhere that I can read about this? I'm already feeling a bit lost."

"There must be. Hermione—well, she read quite a bit, when we told her."

Again, Blaise smoothly avoids her discomfort with discussing Hermione and thanks her, telling her that he'll do his own research and get back to her when he has a better understanding. The topic drifts to other things, and when she's calmed down, he walks her back to class like the perfect gentleman.

All in all, Potter supposes, it wasn't the worst day ever, and he tells Tom such that evening, casually leaving out what had tipped James off to Harry's orientation in the first place. To his surprise, Tom isn't very enthusiastic about Blaise, but Potter assumes that he's just slow to trust people. He can understand that. After all, he would have a hard time trusting Blaise too, if Lily didn't like him so much. But she does, and for him, that's enough.


	41. Chapter 41

"What's up with him?" James snarls, trying to hide that he's still sulking. Potter just shrugs, exasperated with James's attitude, more worried than he carries to admit about the alter that until now was hiding behind James, and slightly hurt that Tom's so uncooperative when they need him the most. They must have done something to anger the other boy, but Potter's not sure what, and he just doesn't have the strength right now to figure it out. Inner system cooperation seems to have improved tremendously once it became necessary to band together against a common enemy, but the fact that there's such an internal enemy at all has them all tense and worried. How long has there been an internal Vernon, and how did none of them figure it out before?

Caught up in his thoughts and half dead from lack of sleep, he almost jolts out of his desk when he receives a hard kick to the back of the chair. He glances back to see Flora raising an eyebrow at him. "I know Lockhart's boring as hell," she whispers, "but you might want to pay attention to this." Frowning, Potter turns back to face the front of the room, trying to force his bleary eyes to focus. It takes him a moment to realize that Lockhart isn't teaching- surprise, surprise- but bragging about something. Bragging about the lack of recent attacks? Bragging that the attacker knew better than to cause any problems with Lockhart around?

It starts small, just a trembling in his chest. Then he's biting his lips and trying to focus on the ridiculous portraits of Lockhart that are currently holding up their arms as if to show off muscles or brandishing wands like swords. Then he has to cover his mouth and fake a coughing fit to avoid his laughter incriminating him. Lockhart pauses and looks up in concern, and both Flora and Blaise stand up at once to help Potter out of the room. After a moment, they shrug and both go with him, Blaise claiming that he must have accidently inhaled dust left behind from the Cornish pixies. Draco just watches them go, a smile tugging at his lips. Most of the Slytherins are "coughing" now, as well, and a few are outright giggling. None of them seem to care at the moment who was actually behind the attacks, the visible confusion on Lockhart's claiming their focused attentions. A few casually wave at the trio as they leave, and one particularly smug looking Gryffindor in the back mock salutes him. Once Potter's safely outside, he can't stop laughing until he's gasping for breath and his sides are aching. A few times, Flora and Blaise try to calm him down, but something-maybe a passerby staring at the scene in wonder, maybe another student ducking out to join them "to clear their head", maybe just remembering what just happened- keeps setting him off again until eventually, Flora has joined him on the floor and even Blaise is chuckling while shaking his head in amusement.

It's not until near the end of class that Potter feels ready to slip back inside, and, to his elation, quite a few people see him and start giggling again, and many of his classmates grin his way or shoot him a thumbs up sign.

"I've never seen Lockhart so caught off guard. That was brilliant!" Draco snickers. Lockhart himself says nothing, just smiles hesitantly in their direction as if he still can't figure out that he's being mocked. Potter takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling to keep from starting all over again, but he can't keep the large smile off of his face. It wasn't that funny, really. It's more as if his brain had been storing all of the happiness that it hadn't gotten a chance to express for days, and now it's threatening to pour out all at once. Potter remains in a good mood throughout the entire morning, and even Ron seems to cheer up. Snape assigns an easy potion for the day, his insults carrying less bite than usual, and Ron and James find a few minutes to chat between classes.

To Potter's intense surprise, Ron approaches them again before dinner and asks if he'd like to sit with him today. Potter hesitates, shooting a glance at Draco. For a moment, Draco seems ready to fire out an insult without thinking twice. Then, he pauses.

"We were going to talk about Quidditch," he frowns, linking an arm possessively through Potters. "Can't you meet after dinner or something?"

It must be surprise at Draco's almost not unpleasant manner that lets Ron blurt out, "I like Quidditch." His face turns red, and he quickly clarifies, "not that you're invited to the Gryffindor table. I don't think anyone would be very happy about sitting with a Death Eater."

"I wouldn't want to be!" Draco snarls. "Nor are you invited to sit with us, you filthy blood traitor."

"After dinner would be nice," Potter quickly intervenes, removing his arm from Draco's grasp. "Where do you want to meet?"

"Do you want to meet in the Gryffindor common rooms?" Ron asks, still glaring at Draco, who sneers in return.

Potter tries to hide his surprise. "Sure. Will no one mind that?"

"Naw," Ron answers, shaking his head and tearing his gaze from Draco. "People have been talking lately about how stupid blaming you for all of this is, and what happened in Defense today kind of made that more obvious. How could anyone here but Dumbledore be powerful enough to have any say in what happens, you know?"

They have to go to dinner then, and Potter doesn't even mind when people see the smile on his face and immediately begin making guesses about who he must have a crush on. It's probably the first and last time that Potter will ever feel grateful for Lockhart, but at the moment, he can't think of a better way for the day to end.

XXXXX

"Hey Harry," one of the twins greets him, and Potter waves in response. True to Ron's word, as angry as some of the Gryffindors look to see him there, many of them are fairly welcoming.

"It's strange seeing you here without Hermione by your side," one of them comments thoughtlessly, but they fix it by adding, "I hope that she wakes up soon. That must really suck, that some people would blame you for freezing your own best friend."

"Yeah," Potter admits, "it really does." The sympathy in people's glances are a welcome relief, and he finds his tension melting away as he throws his bag carelessly to the side and joins Ron for a game of wizard chess.

A few minutes pass before: "Do you want something?" Potter looks up to find Ron staring behind him in annoyance. Potter twists in his seat to find Ginny behind him, turning beet red and avoiding his eyes. Poor girl.

"Hey Ginny," he smiles, trying to look friendly. She doesn't answer, looking almost petrified. Ron snorts and nudges Potter to continue their game. Shrugging to himself, he obeys. He's losing rather badly, the consequence of not wanting to retrieve Lily at the moment, but he figured he would. If nothing else, Ron's a genius at chess.

Then there's a crash, and Potter turns back around to find that Ginny, trying to back quietly away from the table, accidently tripped over his backpack, spilling his things all over the floor.

"Good going Ginny," the other twin laughs, and her face turns impossibly redder. She's staring at the mess that she's made, mortified. Potter sighs, slipping to the floor to pick his things up.

"It's alright, Ginny," he says, but she seems not to hear him. He resists the urge to roll his eyes as he finishes cleaning up. Really, some girls…!

Ginny scurries away without speaking. No one notices the grim determination that lit her face after she noticed a certain worn notebook in Harry's possession.

XXXXX

Flora and Blaise are still chatting when Potter gets back to his own common room, so he wanders alone to his dorm and prepares for bed. He's started reading about the theory behind spell creation (dry, but more interesting than he'd expected when Lily had first picked it out) when Draco slips into the room and sits on his bed with a huff. Potter just eyes him, unsure if he's meant to say anything.

"So," Draco finally breaks the silence. "Still friends with Weasley, huh?"

"He's my friend, Malfoy, yes."

Draco makes an annoyed sort of click with his tongue, but he resumes speaking before Potter can grow too angry with him. "Why is everyone so big on this inner house unity thing?"

"Really, Draco?" Potter puts down the book in exasperation, already knowing that he won't be doing anymore reading tonight. To his surprise, Draco doesn't seem haughty, just genuinely confused.

"The sorting is like a personality test. You end up with a huge group of people that have more in common with you than the other three-fourths of the school. Why would you need to look outside of that? And why does everyone act like it's such a big deal if you're perfectly satisfied with the friends that you do have?"

"Because people aren't just one of four things?" Potter counters. "Really, Draco! Think about it. Everyone expected me to get into Gryffindor, but I'm more ambitious than I am brave. That doesn't mean that I'm not brave, loyal to the friends that I do have, or that I have no interest in learning. Think of all of the Ravenclaws who have high enough goals that they could easily join Slytherins—and backstab them to climb beyond them, too! Think of all the Hufflepuffs who show intense bravery when defending their friends but don't have the usual drive that would make them a Gryffindor. Think of all the Slytherins who actually give a shit about their education but just happen to use more cunning than most… or, for that matter, just happen to have purer blood than most. Sure, it's a personality test, but those are inaccurate as hell, don't you think?"

Draco doesn't reply at first, but there's hurt in his voice when he does. "Okay, fine. So the houses are stupid categories and we shouldn't use them. But they're here, Harry, and that's just a fact. Just because  _you_  can somehow get around that doesn't mean that the rest of us can." Draco glares at him, then, and his eyes are red rimmed. "Why do you get to remain the Boy Hero when the rest of us are just Death Eaters?"

"Why am I a Boy Hero one day and the next Dark Lord the next?" Potter's being more blunt than he would prefer, but he refuses to end the day with some stupid dance of words. But something seems wrong, and so he adds, "Draco, what happened?"

Draco doesn't meet his eyes. "Nothing, Harry. Merlin, can't you mind your own business?"

"This can't have anything to do with Ron earlier," Potter says, baffled, but though Draco flinches only a bit, it's enough.

"He didn't mean it—well, he might have, but he didn't mean it in the way that it came out. He has issues with Slytherin, he really does, but he's getting a lot better about that. And Gryffindors… a lot of them aren't nearly as bad as they seem, especially not when you get to them in private. It's only a normal house rivalry to some of them, the way that the Ravenclaws view the Hufflepuffs as dull and the Hufflepuffs view the Ravenclaws as cutthroat and cold, but neither one thinks anything of interhouse friendships."

"Or of bonding together against Slytherin. Face it, Harry. You're in the hated house, and the only reason that people are on their best behavior around you is your family and defeat of the Dark Lord."

"That's not true!" Potter insists. "You've seen them turn on us! You know what they—"

"Who the hell is this  _us_  you keep going on about? If there's another Boy Who Lived that the other houses actually approve of, please, don't hesitate to introduce us!"

When Potter can't respond, Draco just shakes his head bitterly. "Go to bed, Harry. Just forget about it."

And, because he doesn't know what else to do, he does.


	42. Chapter 42

"So I told her that—are you even listening to me?" Draco demands, but it takes Potter a few seconds to hear what he's said, and he's still too distracted to really process the words.

"Have you seen a small, old looking journal?" he asks frantically. Draco just raises an eyebrow at him.

"What, did you lose your diary or something?"

"It's not mine!" Potter clenches his fists and resists the urge to curse. How the hell could he lose something so important?

"You were keeping someone else's diary for them?" Draco snickers. "Wow, Harry. Is there something you want to tell me?"

Potter just groans in response, casting one last desperate look at the inside of his now empty bag. He glumly replaces all of his things and stands up to follow Draco back to the dorms.

"Maybe you left it lying on your bed or something," Draco says, sneer in his voice.

"I wouldn't have—I know that I didn't!" Potter insists, but Draco ignores him.

Then they reach their dorm.

Potter's things are flung everywhere. His textbooks are toppled off of his sidetable, his bed is unmade, his clothes are strewn about the floor, and even his side of the bathroom seems to have been raided. For a few moments, both boys can only stare in silence.

Finally, Draco shakes his head and gives a low whistle. "All this for a diary?"

Potter doesn't answer. Draco may not realize the value of what's been stolen, but a sinking feeling tells Potter that the robber isn't so ignorant.

XXXXXX

"Are you still moping about that? For god's sake, if it's really that important to you, report it to Snape!"

Potter shakes his head without answering. It's been a week with no sign of the diary. What good could Snape do? Besides, the last thing that they need is more people knowing about the diary! Potter has the feeling that Tom would prefer that they keep silent and wait for him to somehow fix this mess, perhaps by forcing the captor to remain trapped inside the diary until they promise to return it. On the other hand, nothing's happened yet. How much longer are they meant to wait? Should they just give up on Tom altogether?

What, and forfeit the one friend who could understand them? Potter shudders to think of the effect that such a thing would have on Harry. No, he needs to find the diary, and quickly.

Draco interrupts his thoughts to ask," You did try the Point Me spell, didn't you?"

"I'm aware that your opinion of me is dropping by the day," Potter replies bluntly, "but yes, I did. And no, I found nothing. I think 'diary,' even 'To—specific person's diary' is a little too vague. Or perhaps the person who stole it put some sort of anti-tracking cloak on it. I don't know."

Draco shakes his head. "Maybe if you told me what was in it…"

"I can't, Draco! Believe me, it's not my choice. The owner would be furious."

Draco just huffs in response and refuses to talk to him again until they've finished their Astronomy homework.

XXXXX

Much as Potter would love to solve the problem of the missing diary quickly, school gets in the way, and it's not like he had a plan to begin with. After a few more days of searching, system workings return more or less to normal. Yes, maybe they're all a bit more anxious than normal. Yes, maybe Harry's a bit more withdrawn than before. But they've survived hell already. What's the loss of a diary, really? Everything's fine.

XXXXX

_"Hello."_

_Lily looks up in surprise to find Blaise smiling at her. Hesitantly, she returns his smile, surprised that he's still willing to talk to them. Ron and Hermione took learning of their disorder well, but neither of them had the same pureblood view of the world that Blaise must. Besides, DID is such a weird disorder to begin with. Is it possible that Blaise is alright with talking with them still as long as they don't mention it? Surely he can't be ready to deal with them already!_

_"Hi," Lily finally remembers to repeat back, cheeks turning crimson. Blaise's grin widens into a smirk, and he shakes his head as he settles beside her._

_"Are the Mandrakes doing okay?"_

_She nods, reaching out to check the soil with a gloved hand. Blaise watches her before blurting, "You're Lily, right? Are you the one who helped Nott and I first year?"_

_When Lily nods, he says, "Thanks. That was pretty cool of you."_

_Lily absolutely beams. After a minute, she manages to strike up a conversation about their classmates, and they spend the rest of class chatting._

_She's too wrapped up in Blaise to notice Harry watching from behind her. At least one of them is happy._

XXXXX

_They bump into Ginny later, and she squeals and almost drops her bag._

_What is up with her? James wonders._

_Potter rolls his eyes. I think she thinks that she likes us._

_Oh please, James scoffs, I don’t see how anyone could like us if you're the face that they see! She must just like us because we're her brother's friend, and she thinks it's cool to hang out with us._

_Potter snorts quietly. I don't think that Ginny's that shallow, James._

_I never said she was shallow! Doesn't everyone fall for their older sibling's friends? I swear, I've heard that before._

_Potter's about to respond when he's cut off by Draco running up to frantically ask to see his homework for Transfiguration, and James withdraws in disgust._

XXXXX

_A few days later, Ron catches up with them between classes, and James fights his way to front to talk._

_"Where've you been?" Ron demands, and James can only shrug in response._

_"Why are you all so grumpy lately?" Ron persists. James has to laugh at that._

_"Everyone thought we were a serial killer for the longest time, Hermione's in a coma, and the teachers are acting like we're gonna blow up at them at any moment. How the hell are we supposed to feel?"_

_"Yeah, but you seemed fine a few days ago!" Ron says. James hesitates for a moment, and then decides screw it, why not? It's not like anyone inside is paying enough attention to stop him, and he trusts Ron._

_"We lost something, and Potter's freaking out over it. It was this cool journal thing we found that held someone's memories, or something? So we'd spent a few weeks interacting with it, seeing what all it could do. But it looks like maybe it was something important because someone raided our dorm to get to it."_

_Ron's eyes are practically popping out of his head._

_"Why does all the cool stuff happen to you?!"_

_James snickers. "Dunno. Maybe when Voldemort tried to kill us, he cursed us with an interesting life or something instead—shit, Potter's coming. Act natural and maybe he won't notice what—"_

_But it must not be James's day. Potter won't stop yelling at him for three classes straight._

XXXXX

_"What's up with you?" Flora asks, kicking the leg of his chair. Potter smiles at her wearily._

_"It's kind of a long story."_

_"I have time."_

_"Flora," Potter sighs, "when people say that, they generally mean that they don't want to talk about it."_

_"Yes," she replies calmly, "and when I push the matter, it means I'll find out eventually no matter what you do."_

_She's smiling so sweetly when Potter turns around in shock that he almost expects to be hexed the moment that he turns his back again, but then he notices the glint of mischief in her eyes and realizes that maybe they have more allies than he thought. Then Lockhart tries to ask him for his opinion on trolls, and Potter's reminded why allies are necessary in the first place. Flora's a nice distraction from stupidity. She's a nice distraction in general._

_Potter swallows hard and pushes down the sickening feeling in his stomach. He's so tired it's ridiculous, is all. He was up a bit late last night working on an essay for Potions with Jay. Everything's fine._

XXXXX

Harry stares at the clock with weary eyes. 2:37. If he had more energy, he'd groan and roll over, but this is the fourth night in a row that he's woken up soon after Potter fell asleep only to be unable to sleep himself. He considered taking a sleeping draught, but he doesn't want to tell anyone about his problems, and besides, it doesn't seem to be affecting any of the others yet. It's a pain, but it's nothing that he can't handle. He'll be fine.

3:24. If his eyes were aching before, they're burning now. His head is pounding, and he wants to scream. Just as he was falling asleep, _someone_ got up to use the restroom, and now he's mentally as awake as ever. This is miserable.

3:58. Harry wants to throw the clock against the wall and shove any resulting shards into his brain. He swears that he's going to go crazy if he doesn't fall asleep soon.

4:03. 4:17. 4:29. 4… finally, Harry's eyes droop closed and stay closed. His body seems to be wrapped in a thick, heavy fog, and he can't move a muscle. His mind is awake. He's too tired to try to scream.

He's lying in the dark, rather uncomfortably at that, when suddenly, someone trips on him and almost falls over. Harry barely has time to contemplate how that's possible when he hears a startled voice exclaim, "what on earth are you doing here?"

Somehow forcing his eyes to open, Harry finds himself in a dark cavern, completely alone except for the boy standing above him in shock. Tom.

He's on his feet in a moment, heart pounding. _Am I finally asleep?_ he wonders, but he feels far too lucid for that. So what happened?

In front of him, Tom's shaking his head in reluctant amusement. Harry thinks that he hears him mutter under his breath, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you." Then Tom bends down to help Harry to his feet, and Harry decides to concentrate on not making a fool of himself. He's never been inside of Tom's headspace without Potter beside him, and he's not the best at socializing without the others there to help him.

Deciding that he might as well not tiptoe around the matter, he gets straight to business. "Who took your diary?"

For a second, Tom's smile seems to freeze on his face. Then he laughs awkwardly. "Wow, you really don't mess around." He sobers, adding, "Harry, I'm not sure that I can tell you that."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me that?" Harry demands.

Tom looks uneasy. "I don't want to get them into trouble. They're one of your classmates, and I don't think that they meant ill."

"Didn't mean ill? They stole you!..." Trying to ignore the awkward phrasing, Harry plunders on. "How did they know about you in the first place?"

Tom glances behind him as if hoping for backup. Harry realizes that he has no plans to answer the question, and he feels his fists clench. Fine, then. It's not like he's not used to people hiding information from him.

"Harry," Tom says, drawing Harry's attention back to the conversation, "I truly am sorry about this. Really, though, this might not turn out as poorly as we were originally afraid. After all, if you can enter my mind so easily, I wonder…"

He's staring at Harry now with a strange light in his eyes. Harry feels the palms of his hands grow sweaty. "Yeah?" he manages to ask. Tom rewards him with an amused half smile.

"Return to bed," he says softly. "Try to get some sleep. At this point, you're probably too tired, but possibly tomorrow…"

He trails off, and when Harry determines that nothing else will be said at the moment, he closes his eyes and tries to connect back to his body. Practice from fighting back dissociation pays off, and when he next opens his eyes, he's back in bed… _and_ it's 6:45. He considers it a victory.

XXXXX

"What was that for?" Potter groans, rubbing his arm where Draco punched it. Draco scowls in return.

"You weren't paying attention!"

"Excuse me for trying to get some sleep before dinner! If I don't take a nap now, I swear I'm going to collapse as soon we get back here later, and then I'm never going to make a dent in this," he concludes with a hopeless gesture towards the mountain of homework in front of him.

Draco stares like he's from another planet. "It's _Friday._ Why on earth would you want to do any work on _Friday?_ "

Potter rolls his eyes. "You'd get along well with Ron," he informs his friend. Then: "Ow! Merlin Draco, that actually hurt!"

"Good," Draco huffs, stalking out of the room. Potter sighs in exasperation. For a moment, he considers following, but he can barely hold his eyes open as is. Why on earth is he so tired all of a sudden?

As soon as his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light—

Harry's not even surprised to find himself forced to front moments later. He doesn't bother to get up; getting along with the other Slytherins might come more naturally to Potter, now, but he'd probably just accidently call out Snake, and he doesn't feel like switching right now. Instead, he just lies there and tries to will himself to fall asleep. To his annoyance, he finds himself dissociating instead. Before, he knows it, he's back in the headspace…

"Oh." He blinks, staring at Tom. Tom doesn't acknowledge him, too busy examining the room around him.

"This is nice," he says, "much nicer than ours." Harry says nothing, preferring to watch as Tom runs his fingers over the furniture and glances at the doorways leading to where the other alters sleep. He seems confused for a moment, and Harry wonders if he remembers that some of their alters are in the same hallway or even room or if he's trying to puzzle out where the rest of their alters go to rest.

Finally, Tom turns back to Harry with a nod of approval. "You probably should still be napping," he admits, "but I don't feel like leaving now that I'm finally here, and you shouldn't upset your sleeping pattern, anyway."

"I don't _have_ a sleeping pattern right now," Harry snorts. "And how are you here?"

Tom shrugs noncommittally.

"Can you do this with the other person who knows about your diary?" Harry presses.

Tom's smile disarms him. "Why would I care to try?" Once he's satisfied that Harry's appropriately flustered, he continues with, "Actually, once you're better rested, I'd like to see if I could use your body, as well—with your permission, of course. But I'd like to be able to talk to you wherever you are without having to bother with something as silly as a diary. At the moment, however, I believe that you'd pass out if I tried to enter your mind more completely. Are you having trouble sleeping? Would you like me to prepare a sleeping draught for you?"

"No, I'll be fine," Harry says, not quite able to meet Tom's eyes. To his surprise, however, when he returns to the body, he _is_ tired, and his mind isn't as overly active as it was before…

Draco's barely able to wake him up for dinner, but that doesn't stop him from sleeping just as deeply that night.


	43. Chapter 43

"You look better today," Ron mumbles around the muffin he's stuffed into his mouth. Swallowing, he adds, "did you find that diary, then?"

James doesn't pause long, even with Potter glaring at him from the background. "Not exactly," he admits, "but we know that whoever has it isn't hurting it, or anything. Tom, the boy in it, contacted us and told us not to pry, so I guess it's all cool. Besides, why not be happy? The mandrakes are almost ready; we might get Hermione back in time for her to catch up on her studies and then help us with finals!"

Ron's laughter draws a few glares from Slytherins who're bitter that Harry Potter still sits with the Gryffindors sometimes, but Ron takes no notice.

"Yeah, mate," he agrees, "that'd be great! She's going to complain so much, though, about how she was the one knocked out but she's going to be the one tutoring us."

"She'll get over it," James shrugs. "She might take a while to stop bitching about our less than absolutely perfect notes, but she'll be glad to see us."

Ron nods his agreement. Then he says, "Do you want to come visit her with me?"

"Yeah," James automatically says, voicing the opinion of the entire system at once. "Yeah, we'd like that."

"Cool. I have to grab my homework to do while we sit there, so I'll meet you there, okay?"

James nods, and soon he's hurrying off to grab his own books. He tries to look casual about it, but everyone else inside is too excited for him to be able to dally. He gets to the Hospital Wing long before Ron does and settles down to wait on his own.

Sitting alone with Hermione isn't something that he's gotten used to, and he doesn't think that he ever could. He wants to talk to her, to tell her everything that's happened, but he doesn't know if she can hear him, and the idea of talking to her unresponding body feels too much like talking to a corpse. He and Ron tell her about their classes, sometimes, and pretend that she's lecturing them when they forget something or realize they have no idea what they're actually talking about, but how could he prattle on about diaries and prejudiced professors when she might not even know that he's there?

Inside, everyone has gone silent, as if a breath too loud might shatter Hermione like glass. James has the urge to loudly announce that he's going to start their essay for Snape now, but his mouth is dry, and he can't. He hopes that Ron will get here soon. At least Madam Pomfrey was never one of the staff members who blamed them. Actually, after what happened with Snape, she treats them with a certain gentleness that makes his stomach churn with fear. After what she witnessed first year, she must actually understand their problem, and it's _terrifying_. They haven't been able to switch anywhere where she might notice since.

Finally, Ron barges into the room, panting. "Sorry," he says as he settles down into the chair beside James', "Filch tried to stop me in the hallway." James nods to show that he understands, and they both work in silence for a while. Occasionally, they'll stop to ask one another a question or to explain a new process to Hermione, and it's hard for them to concentrate well, but neither suggests stopping until over an hour has passed. Ron puts down his books first and goes to stand by Hermione, staring at her mournfully until James moves to join him.

"See you soon, 'Mione." Ron chokes on the whisper and has to turn away. On an impulse, James reaches out to stroke Hermione's hand.

"The hell?"

Ron turns back to find James trying to uncurl Hermione's fingers. "She's holding something!"

Together, the boys manage to uncover a small slip of paper. Silently, they read about the Basilisk and Hermione's scrawled note at the bottom: _Pipes._

"…Pipes?" Ron asks, dumbfounded. James shrugs helplessly. Then he listens inside, and his eyes widen to saucers.

"Pipes! That's how the Basilisk is getting around! Oh, Hermione's brilliant… no, listen! She figured out that it can only kill people by looking directly at them, right? But no one met its eyes. Collin had his camera up, Justin saw it through Nearly Headless Nick… Nick is already dead of course—Hermione and the Ravenclaw prefect were found with a mirror, and I bet you anything that Hermione had been using it to check around corners. Mrs. Norris must have… water! She saw the reflection, not the actual beast. Ron, even in a magical coma, Hermione's brilliant!"

Ron was nodding along excitedly, but now he frowns. "But James, who's been doing all of this? You don't really think that it was Hagrid, do you? Sure, there've been no new attacks, but…"

At that, James pauses. "I… I don't… know…"

Ron's frown deepens. "You know something that you're not telling!" He accuses.

"No I don't," James says quickly, eyes darting to the side.

"You do!" Ron insists, leaping to his feet.

"Alright, alright!" James hisses. "Just be quiet about it. Sit down, and I'll tell you… okay, so you know that diary that we found? Well, Tom, he told us that—no, he _showed­_ us his memory of Hagrid being caught releasing a monster the first time. We weren't sure if we could believe him, but then Hagrid was taken the very next day."

Ron's mouth drops open in horror, but he says nothing. He doesn't get the chance, for Madam Pomfrey returns the next moment, ushering the both of them to go prepare for bed; she has work to do. The boys agree to meet again tomorrow before parting ways.

James is almost back to the dungeons when he hears it.

" _Kill this time… let me rip… tear…"_

James freezes. "Oh, _shit_ ," he breathes. "Potter…?"

 _I hear it,_ Potter responds grimly. _But what can we do?_

_I thought this was all over and done with!_

_Yes, and we all thought that that alter of yours had decided to leave the rest of us alone,_ Potter shoots back. _Alters come and go on their own schedule, you know that._

James doesn't reply. Potter shakes his head and heads back towards their dorms when he notices Lily standing beside James, a strange expression on her face. _What?_

 _A Basilisk is a snake,_ she whispers. _I'm sure that we were the only one who heard the snake at the zoo, too…_

Their entire body locks up as Potter's mind races to consider this. _…Oh…_ oh _!_

His feet pound against the stone floor as he shoots forwards as if trying to outrace the realization. He's back to his dorm in record time, but he can't relax. Back and forth he paces, looking so frantic that when Draco opens the door to try to talk to him, the look on his face scares the other boy off immediately.

 _We heard… the Basilisk? Oh,_ god. Potter finally sinks to the floor with a groan. _We could have said something,_ he says helplessly. _What if we could have helped to save Hermione?_

He's still shaking by the time he crawls into bed, and Draco, once he returns, doesn't try to speak to him. No one inside speaks. The silence is deafening.

Tom's the one to break it.

 _Is something wrong?_ He questions when he shows up in their mind, startling Potter so badly that he almost falls off the bed.

_Potter?_

Potter just nods slowly, not trusting himself to speak. Tom shifts nervously.

_Something's happened?... Potter, please tell me what's wrong._

_I told you that we… the attacks, we heard a voice and… oh, god, Tom, it was the Basilisk, there's a Basilisk and we_ heard _it… I could have helped them, or told someone, or…_

 _Potter, what could you have done?_ Tom's voice is gentle but firm, and Potter wishes that he could believe him.

Tom continues, _you didn't know, Potter. Even if you had, who could you have told? What could you have told, really, other than that you were hearing voices from the walls that probably belonged to some kind of snake? No one would have listened to you, and they would have been more suspicious than ever that you were the heir. You did nothing wrong, Potter._

 _If the Basilisk is still here, it couldn't have been Hagrid opening the chamber,_ Potter says instead of answering. He doesn't notice the way that Tom freezes.

 _If the Chamber was already opened,_ Tom says carefully, _it may not have been properly closed. Perhaps Hagrid…_

 _It wasn't Hagrid,_ Potter interrupts, clenching his teeth so tightly that his jaws ache.

Slowly, Tom nods. _Alright. Who was it, then?... I suppose that you could find McGonagall now—you said that she was the one left in charge, correct?—and tell her what you've found. If you truly believe that the killer is still loose…_

_You told me that were a Parseltongue as well._

_… Yes, I did._

Potter looks at Tom with new understanding, and the boy grows pale. _You blame me._ It's not a question, and Potter doesn't bother to nod.

_I didn't open the Chamber._

_Which one of you was it, then?_ Potter laughs bitterly, angrily, so harshly that Tom winces.

 _I'm sorry… Potter, I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop him. I tried, I promise you that I did! But part of our soul… you don't understand, Potter! We would_ never _hurt anyone, we wouldn't! But our host, he's_ mad! _He never handled the abuse well, he was always so angry. And then, when we came here… the dark spells, Potter, they destroyed him. We tried to stop him, but he cast us out… When he decides to do something, we can't stop him, he's so much stronger than we are… I'm so sorry, I tried to stop him, I tried. If there's anything that I can do now,_ please _, Potter, just let me know so that I can…_

 _Who the hell do you share a mind with?_ Potter demands. _Driven mad by dark spells? Who the hell is your alter: Voldemort?!_

The resulting silence tells him all that he needs to know.


	44. Chapter 44

The wail is so loud that even Tom jumps. Potter opens the body's eyes to cast a glance at Draco, but the boy doesn't react; of course he doesn't. The cry was entirely in Potter's mind. He can feel the waves of desolation now, and panic takes over.

_Harry!_

He doesn't even have time to glare at Tom before he disappears deeper into their mind, trying to find his core. He can't. The mind belongs to Harry more than anyone else, and Harry can withdraw when he wants to. No one can reach him, and Potter feels sick.

Tom is behind him. Something ugly finds power in Potter, and he's barely aware of himself as he slams the startled boy into the wall behind them. It doesn't matter to him that he can't actually hurt anyone in the headspace or that Tom could choose to leave their mind at any moment and return to his diary. Truth be told, he's barely thinking at all.

 _You tried to kill us!_ he hisses.

 _I did not!_ Tom insists. _Potter, I don't want to hurt any of you. I wasn't even aware of what he was—_

 _Shut up._ Potter shoves Tom away from him and turns around, breathing deeply to steady himself. Tom says nothing more, and Potter almost hates him for it. He'd rather have an excuse to hurt him.

 _Will you tell McGonagall what you've found?_ Tom murmurs. His voice is calm, and it unnerves Potter.

_I should._

_That's not an answer, Potter._

 Potter turns back to face Tom. The other boy doesn't so much as shift his weight. He just stares forward at Potter, meeting his eyes evenly.

_You're the Dark Lord._

_I suppose that you could say that. I'm not inclined to agree. Potter, I swear to you that none of us approve of Voldemort's actions. I'll be honest with you; not all of us are good people or anything remotely close. We didn't survive childhood unscathed. We barely survived at all, and it broke something in us. It broke_ us, _Potter, but the hurt ran so much deeper than that. We learned from it, Potter. We learned what we had to do in order to survive, and we learned it well. We swore that no one would ever hurt us again…_

Tom takes a shuddering breath, lost in memories. He blinks hard, returning to himself. _We wanted power. We wanted to be so strong that no one would dare touch us. We discovered Dark Magic. I won't lie to you. It was addicting. There's a certain thrill that comes from using something so incredibly wrong. It felt so much better than the magic that they taught us here. It was, in a way, far more pure. But we tried to resist its lure. We felt safe here. We didn't want to hurt anyone, simply to learn how to protect ourselves. We did release the Basilisk, Potter, but when we learned what we had done, what it would mean for the students, for Hogwarts, we locked it up once again. I had no intention of ever releasing it again, and even the worst of us were of the same mind, then._

_So what changed?_

Tom's stare seems to deepen, searching Potter's soul. Potter breaks the gaze. From the corners of his eyes, he sees Tom smile grimly. _We had always wanted to protect not only ourselves, but others like us. We had sworn to never allow any children to be used as we were. We had become strong, and we wanted to pass on this strength…_

_We asked Dumbledore if we could teach at Hogwarts._

Now Potter looks back at Tom, knowledge lighting his eyes as he whispers, _he refused._

Tom nods, anger settling onto his form. _He had never liked us, Potter. We had always despised him. We tried so hard, so_ hard, _to be what everyone wanted. We came to Hogwarts with as much magical control as any first year could muster, and while many teachers respected us for it, he didn't. He feared us, I believe. He was always warning us that we shouldn't think too highly of ourselves, that what we had done to sharpen our skills was wrong… why?_ Tom's laugh is bitter. _Why was it wrong? We hurt people, but they hurt us_ first. _We would be dead, had they had their way, if Dumbledore had his way. And he knew it! The old bastard, he knew it. He was the one to find us, to tell us that we were a wizard. He saw how much the matron hated us, knew how the other children tormented us. He knew that magic was the only thing that kept us alive. He knew that learning to control it, to sharpen it, to turn it into a weapon, was the only way that we had survived. And he hated us for it! Potter, he…_

 _When he turned us away, it destroyed us. Hogwarts had always been our safe place. We hated leaving every summer, but Headmaster Dippet couldn't keep us unless we told him why we needed it so badly, and we couldn't. We didn't blame him for that. But Dumbledore already knew, and he was turning us away from our_ home _. He told us that we'd find a job elsewhere, but how could we? We knew, by then, that nowhere was safe for us._

_That's when Voldemort truly cracked. He'd always been the darkest of us, the most drawn to forbidden spells and deadly potions. Now, he had had the last straw. We'd years ago found a ritual that would allow one's mind to shatter, splintering the soul and locking the shards into various objects to achieve immortality. As long as one piece survived, so would the original. Well, Voldemort was no original, but he hated the rest of us enough to seek a way to cast us out. We went willingly. We could feel his deterioration, and what had we to stay for? And then, once we had all left, he set off on his path of destruction. We couldn't stop him. Instead, we withdrew completely. Potter, until I met you, I hadn’t even talked to the others for what must have been a decade. I remained trapped in my memories, half frozen in stasis. I wish that I could repay you for what you've done for us, and it pains me to know that it was part of my own soul that destroyed your life. I'm so sorry…_

Potter turns away, closing his eyes in pain. He can sense James rooms away, sense his distrust and disapproval, but Harry's gone silent. He hopes that that means that Harry approves of what he's going to do next.

_Do you swear that you won't allow anyone to open the chamber again?_

Tom seems startled by this, as if he didn't actually expect his speech to work. _Yes. I'll do everything within my power to protect the students here from the Basilisk. I won't attack anyone else._

Potter hesitates. _No more keeping things from us, not if you expect our support. Who stole the diary?_

 _Oh, that?_ Tom laughs uneasily. _Well… I don't know if I can… it was the one who had the diary before you. She was afraid that I would hurt you… I won't obviously, and I won't hurt her, either. She noticed that I needed energy in order to remain present, but I won't hurt her! I'll find another way to talk to you. Honestly, it's much, much easier for me to contact you than it was to contact her, so I may not even need to do anything…_

_Why is that?_

_Why are we so connected?... Well, you defeated part of my soul as an infant, didn't you? I suppose we've always had strange connections to each other._

_I suppose we must._ Potter swallows heavily, suddenly aware of the body's scar aching. _Alright. I won't tell anyone. But the moment I see any more signs of the Basilisk's activities…_

_I understand. I—thank you, Potter. You're the first… thank you._

Potter just nods now, too overwhelmed to speak. It takes him a while to choke out, _we need to go to bed now._

_Of course! My apologies… Goodnight, Potter._

Potter just nods again. After a moment, he returns to the body to sleep, ignoring the others. Only one thought occupies his mind: _that could have been us. If we didn't have our friends…_

Tom returns to his diary. However, he doesn't remain for long. He enters his own headspace and meets Riddle's waiting gaze.

_We've got him._


	45. Chapter 45

_Back to this, are we?_ Potter says. James just stares at him.

_He killed our parents. I know that he has you fucking brainwashed or something, but--! My God, Potter, do you really not see the problem with that?_

_Yes, I do,_ Potter sighs. _But Harry likes him, so what can we do?_

_What do you mean, what can we do?! We're here to protect Harry! Letting him get all buddy-buddy with the man who tried to murder us as an infant is doing a pretty shitty job at that._

_To be fair, it wasn't exactly Tom… don't give me that look!_

_What makes you think that he isn't just showing you illusions? He admitted that the memory of Hagrid was a lie, after all. And how the hell could you not try to do something about that?_ James demands in disgust. Potter stops short, dread growing in the pit of stomach.

_Oh._

_Yes, **oh** , _James mocks.

_Alright, then. What would you have me do about it? Do you want to be the one to tell Harry we're not letting him talk to Tom anymore? Be my guest!_

_Are you dense? If I don't, Jay will, and she sure as hell won't be nice about it._

They both pause as the implications of that sink in.

_He won't be happy about this…_

_Of course he won't._ James practically snorts. _But you know what? It's not like he's ever here anymore to judge._

_James, you—!_

Before the fighting can get out of hand, their alarm goes off, and Potter reluctantly drags them out of bed. He already knows that he won't eat breakfast, but he should at least be seen in the Great Hall before anyone gets any bright ideas about what he might be busy with. To his relief, Draco seems too tired to bug him much, and he's left mostly in peace. It's not until he's leaving for classes that he feels someone's hand on his shoulder.

"Harry!" he hears, and he flinches away automatically. The hand tightens its grasp, and he feels sick.

"I haven't been seeing you much lately! Busy studying for all of your tests, no doubt! If you ever need any help, I'll gladly teach you everything you need to know! Your professors won't know what hit them!"

Potter just nods, unable to meet the man's eyes. "I have to go," he mutters, tearing himself away and darting forward into the crowd. After so little rest, he has no need for any more problems right now.

However, Lockhart keeps smiling at him throughout Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potter's never been so relieved to be able to escape to Potions before. Snape's almost back to his old self, and the lack of personalized attention is refreshing. Unfortunately, this also means that the potions assigned are as challenging as they ever were before, and Potter quickly finds himself at a loss. Draco's no help, and Snape's beginning to grow annoyed at the number of students botching their potions. Potter wishes that he could just let Jay do it, but he still remembers James's warning about her temper.

_Oh please,_ he hears, the voice practically a hiss. _Just let me out._

He has no intention of obeying, but Jay isn't as weak as he would hope. This is her element, and it's easy for her to slip out and begin preparing their potion. Potter tries to keep a close eye on her, but she quickly becomes irritated and tries to keep him out. He doesn't lose time, exactly, but it becomes hard for him to remember one moment to the next, and his concentration is fuzzier than he would prefer. For a moment, he almost thinks that she's trying to botch their potion—why does she need Baneberry for a simple Sleeping Draught?—but everything seems fine when she hands it over to Snape, and she withdraws again without complaint.

Potter wonders what she's planning.

At least the rest of the day brings no new complaints. Hunger is nothing new by this point, just an added pain. Maybe people pick up on his mood, or maybe most people really are beginning to panic over tests, but no one bothers him much. To his relief, Tom doesn't try to speak to them again, either. He wonders about that, but he always finds some excuse to distract himself when those thoughts grow too dark. He almost wonders if perhaps Harry would prefer that Tom try to kill them again if it means that they're able to pretend that he's a friend up until that point, but Potter ignores that thought, too.

It's evening before he knows it, and he decides that he really should start studying now. He lays out all of their books and scrolls in a line and sets out to organize their notes. There's a lot of them, and it takes him a while to make sure everything's in the right subject pile, let alone chronologically correct. Some of the notes are written pretty messily, and he has to take extra time to decipher the subject matter. After that's been done, his legs are cramping a bit, so he gets up to grab a chocolate frog as a snack. He resolves, when he's settled back down, to actually begin studying, but he picks up History first, and without Harrison's help, he barely lasts a minute before he's struggling not to turn the books into a pillow. He tries Herbology, next, but he couldn't care less about plants. Transfiguration is moderately interesting, so he spends a few minutes on that, but it feels like he already knows everything, so why bother to study it? He should probably try to study Potions, as that exam will probably be a nightmare, but…

Someone starts a game of exploding snapdragons behind him, and it's really loud. The noise begins to grate on him, and he decides to take a walk. He's not sure where he's wandering, at first, only that he likes having some time to himself. Then his feet drag him towards Lockhart's classroom, and Potter can feel Jay behind him, quietly watching. He wants to her curse for choosing _this_ as the first way to punish him, but she's not listening. Rolling his eyes in disgust, he decides that he can beat her at her own game. He'll just withdraw inside and let her deal with Lockhart alone.

The rest of the night comes to him in flashes.

XXXXX

They're walking back to their dorm, seemingly disheveled. Dimly, Potter wonders if Jay and Lockhart got into a fight. Jay notices him and tries to shut him out again, so he retreats to let her handle her anger on her own.

XXXXX

They're in their dorm, and she's spelled open a compartment of their trunk that Potter hadn't even realized that they had. It's late, and everyone is asleep. No one will witness whatever she's planning to do. Now uneasy, Potter tries to make Jay return the vile she removed. She shrieks internally at him, and pain shoots through his head until he backs off. This time, he doesn't just disappear inside. Maybe James can help to calm his sister down?

XXXXX

The potion tastes disgusting. It slides down their throat like slime, and the slight stinging sensation morphs closer to burning with every passing second.

_What the hell was that?_ James demands, but Jay sneers at him and says nothing. Frowning, James tries to examine the potions bottle, but he has none of Jay's expertise, and he has no idea what he's looking at. Potter's beginning to feel dizzy, and with a sinking feeling, he goes to get Harry, as well.

XXXXX

By the time that Potter returns with Harry, their body is silently convulsing on the ground, and James is a panicked mess.

_What the hell did you do?! Goddamn it Jay, goddamn you, what did you do?!_

Jay's mouth curls into the widest smile that Potter's ever seen on her before. _Fuck you._

Their head is beginning to ache, and Potter's vision begins to fade. _Do something!_ He begs Harry. He wishes that he had thought to grab Lily, as well, but what if this is beyond even her? Why on earth did he ever leave Jay alone? He should have known that she would hurt them, he should have protected them better, he should have—!

Their body is still, now, and Potter can't hear any of the others.

XXXXX

When Potter awakes, James is gone. Jay is scowling fiercely, but she won't confront Harry, and he's not acknowledging her. He stares straight ahead as if in a trance, saying nothing. He looks tired.

Potter doesn't feel right breaking the silence, but he has to know. _What happened?_

Harry just shakes his head slowly. Their magic is depleted, Potter realizes, but is Harry really capable of using healing magic? It surprises him when he doesn't know for sure.

Their lips move, and Potter has to strain to catch the sound of their own voice.

"You were trying to kill us."

She doesn't deny it.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains implications of sexual abuse. Be careful reading

"Aren't you supposed to be good at Potions?" Draco asks, and Harry can only shake his head.

"Didn't sleep well," he offers, but Draco just stares at him. Harry tries to ignore him, but it looks like their friend won't give up until he has an explanation, and Harry knows all too well that he'll be a pain until then. After a quick glance around to make sure that no one's paying attention to them, Harry leans in for a moment to murmur, "Remember what I told you about my home life? Stress makes symptom management harder, sometimes, and these past few days have been harder than they should have. School work isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world at the moment."

To Harry's surprise, after Draco finishes spluttering and looking shocked, as if he'd forgotten what Harry had told him before, he offers to help with any homework they have. Harry's touched, and he tries to show that. He's not in the mood for making conversation, though, and the pair quickly falls back into silence. Draco's taken over with making the potion, and Harry wonders why the boy never helped before. For all that he gripes on the rare occasions when they ask for his help, he seems to find the process as natural as does Jay.

Jay. Just the name makes Harry tense. At least she's nowhere near the front. Actually, Harry can't sense where she is at all, and he's not inclined to care. After all, he was the one who set up a mental wall to keep his alters back. Perhaps he should find a way to make it more permeable so that he's not completely alone at front, but he can worry about that tonight. It's only been a few days of solitude, and his grades haven't yet begun to suffer enough for him to worry. Relying on his alters was more of an emotional crutch than anything else; he's not stupid. He can manage his life for at least a few more days, and he's enjoying the silence in the meantime. In fact, he's enjoying himself so much that he's reluctant to ever give up control again!

Harry tries to distract himself with what Draco's doing, biting back the smile. Enjoying himself. Right. He knows that he's too cynical for his own good, flat out pessimistic in far too many cases, but it's not as if he can just snap his fingers and fix that. Besides, it's not as if things are going badly, exactly. He may not be sleeping enough, but he is sleeping. Without Petal, his eating has actually improved, and his grades are fine. Sure, his social life is suffering a bit, but no one who bothered to get close to him was under any delusions that he's always fun to be around. For that matter, Harry wonders if there's still anyone who believes him to be completely sane. Maybe some of the 1st years are still blinded by idolization of him.

As things stand, not even the first years are bugging him much now. Most people would be upset by the lack of social interaction, especially if they had to face losing their constant mental companions as well. Harry doesn't mind it much. In truth, the only person that he really wants to talk to about all of this is Tom. He almost feels guilty that the mental barrier seems to be locking out his friend, as well, but wasn't Tom the catalyst for this mess?

Harry shoves the thought from his mind. The potion is almost finished, and he can't be this passive in Transfiguration. He'll deal with things later.

XXXXX

Maybe he jinxed himself with all of his talk of sleep. That night, he tosses and turns for hours, and when late night becomes early morning, he feels no more rested than he was when he first lay down.  At this point, he's beginning to wonder if he's insomniac. He contemplates that for an hour, and by the end, he's decided that he couldn't care less. He just wants his brain to shut up for five goddamn minutes so he can get some sleep. Unfortunately, luck isn't on his side.

Finally, Harry remembers reading somewhere that if you can't sleep for a certain amount of time, you should get up and do something else for a little while before trying again. Sure that he's passed that limit, Harry gets up to take a walk. What he really wants to do is talk to Tom, but… well, he supposes that that won't be happening tonight.

This time, there's no explanation for why his feet take him to Lockhart's chambers. There's no explanation for the hand that reaches out and knocks before Harry even notices that he's in front of a door. There's no explanation for why he doesn't run away and chalk it up to sleep deprivation. There's no explanation for why he _can't_ run away. There's no explanation for the look on Lockhart's face when he opens the door and looks down at Harry. None at all.

***TW for implications of sexual abuse and violent thoughts***

There's no explanation for why Harry follows Lockhart into his classroom. Past that, into his bedroom. Stays still while Lockhart talks to him in an increasingly deepening voice. Giggles at something he says. Let's Lockhart remove his shirt. Helps him remove his pants. There's no explanation for the feminine way he moves. No explanation for how distant his body feels, as if it's not his body at all. As if he's not in control at all. As if he's an observer, not even real. As if this is all a dream, and he'll wake up any moment now in his dorm, he knows that he will. He'll shudder for a few minutes, disgusted with his mind, fearful of any truths that might be lurking in his subconscious. He'll forget about it. He'll force himself to forget about it. He'll go down to breakfast with Draco, and he'll try to listen as the sheltered boy prattles on. He'll grow tired of it, and he'll find a way to drag Snake to front without hearing any of the other alters. When he comes back in time for class, he'll feel guilty about this. History of Magic will be such a boring class, as usual, that he'll feel that he has to switch with Harrison to make it through. He'll feel even worse about letting Harrison out but not Lily, so he'll let her talk to Blaise in Herbology. Potter will be yelling at him all the while, and eventually, he won't be able to block it out anymore. Potter will be furious at first, but it will be from worry, not real anger. When he calms down, he'll promise to protect Harry in the future. He just wants to help him. James will be the next to return, and he'll be even more furious than Potter. He'll also feel guiltier. After all, it was his sister who tried to kill them. He'll yell at Harry, as well, but he, too, will calm down in the end and promise to work to keep them safe in the future. Jay will remain angry and bitter, but she won't try to hurt them again. After all, it was just a call for help the first time, wasn't it? A desperate plea to bring his attention to… to show him what was wrong with…

He's back in bed, but he still can't sleep. He's in too much pain. He feels like he shouldn't be, like most of the pain is in his head, but that doesn't stop it from hurting. Something inside of him is aching. Part of it is nothing but a metaphor, his body expressing the pain that his brain can't seem to grasp. Part of it feels like a memory, and concentrating on it…

He's in the bathroom now, hanging over the toilet, almost wishing that Petal had been more active the last few days so that he would have nothing inside to barf up. He wishes that he was empty inside, period. If he was empty, he wouldn't be hurting now.

He bets that Tom wouldn't hurt this badly if he were in Harry's position. He can almost imagine the pain morphing into cold, logical anger, long ago transformed from protective to destructive. He can almost imagine being transformed from prey to predator. He wonders, for a moment, what it would feel like to murder someone. Not someone. A specific person. Many specific people. For Vernon, he's always had the image of the man swelling up even farther, swelling until he bursts. Not realistic for a muggle, perhaps, but Harry's sure that there's some spell for it. At the point that he'd commit murder, he'd already be prepared to run from the police, so it's not like using magic underage would put a time constraint on his revenge. Petunia would need a slower sort of revenge. Her injuries were never as obvious, after all. He could curse her in any number of ways, but none would hold satisfaction. Perhaps hurting Dudley would be enough? But Dudley's punishment should be separate. No, he would make Petunia _think_ that she was seeing him hurt her precious Dudley. He could give her visions of… of Dudley with magic. Of her beloved son being a Freak. He could torment her with the idea that everything that she had ever afflicted on him for his magic was being replicated on her own child. She would never feel guilty, of course, but she'd feel pain, and that's all that he wants from her. Dudley himself might not deserve to be hurt too badly. After all, it's not his fault that he was too stupid and indoctrinated not to break free from his parents. Transformation into a pig would suit him well. Perhaps someone would eat him. As for Lockhart, Harry doubts that the man could really manage half of the things that he claims to have done. If Harry could force him into a public confrontation with any sort of dangerous beast and destroy his reputation forever, it would probably be the lowest blow he could deal to Lockhart. Pathetic, as is everything else about the poor excuse for a professor.

No wonder Jay was so determined to get rid of him! He's disturbed, a sick individual, horrible through and through. The wizarding world should dispose of him before he's their next Dark Lord. He could do it. He knows that he could. He's powerful enough, certainly. He could build up an army in no time with the amount of people who would love to follow him if he played to their hopes of the perfect golden Boy Who Lived. If he played his cards right, he could convince them all that it was for their own good. Maybe it would be. It's not like the current way that the wizarding world handles things is working, not if they leave boys like him and Tom out to rot. He could show them their errors, force them to repent. He could do it. He could do anything, and they could never stop him.

But his mental defenses fall as he crawls back into bed and drifts into an uneasy sleep, and he knows that he's lying to himself. He could never kill anyone. Far from predator, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is, was, and always will be prey.

Even while asleep, he can't stop the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Lockhart's intentions are finally confirmed. I apologize for the dark nature of this chapter, but it was a long time in coming. Sometimes, after you've been victimized once, it's as if you have a sign on your forehead, screaming to the world that you're an easy prey. Predators tend to be masters at reading those signs, no matter how subtle. Wizarding predators, apparently, are no different.


	47. Chapter 47

The look in Tom's eyes is murder. Perhaps it's something that would normally frighten Potter, but at the moment, he's beyond caring. None of them have been able to reach Harry in days. If Tom can do anything about that, Potter personally couldn't care who his alter is. Hell, Tom could have the muggle Satan in there and Potter still wouldn't care if it meant that Tom could help them reach Harry.

At the moment, it doesn't look like reaching Harry is Tom's biggest concern. It may have been when they first finally let him in again, when he was still angry that they had ignored him for so long. But now his body is still, his facial tint approaching white, and Potter can see why everyone makes such a big deal about psychopathic eyes. No, Harry isn't Tom's concern right now. Lockhart is.

Tom leaves their head without another word.

XXXXX

_The snake is huge._

_"Don't worry," Tom whispers with their shared mouth. "She won't hurt you as long as I'm here. She senses me within you. You're safe._

_"He, on the other hand…"_

_Tom glares at their captive who is shivering on the cold chamber floor (Potter distantly notes the inspiration for Tom's headspace)._

_"H-Harry," Lockhart starts up again the moment that he has their attention, "Listen now, I-I think you're making a HUGE mistake, I mean… I know we might have had a… have had a misunderstanding, but this is!"_

_"Shut up," Tom says bluntly, turning back to the Basilisk. He pets her for a moment ("Really, Potter, she's so smooth. Not frightening at all, see?") before leaning over to the small bag that they brought with them. He straightens Potter's body and walks over to Lockhart. The man doesn't object when he's spun around, but he quickly closes his eyes when he notices what they're holding. ("Never would have figured it out if I hadn't already explained it to him…")_

_"Open your eyes you bloody bastard," Potter hears his own voice snarl. It's so much lower than he would ever be able to force it. Lockhart must sense this. Lockhart must be used to their voice higher pitched, gentle, and feminine. Lockhart struggles, but Tom-in-Potter is stronger._

_"Look. Into. The fucking. Mirror. Or so help me Salazar, I will_ force _you to…"_

_Lockhart's screaming stops abruptly as his eyes lock onto the monsters. Tom laughs at that. "Finally shut the fucker up…" The language sounds wrong coming from his mouth, from Potter's mouth. It doesn't matter. Nothing about this is right._

_For a moment, Tom remains still, examining his prey. Then he retrieves Potter's wand. He closes his eyes with a sadistic grin._

_"Your wand feels wonderful in my hand. I almost wonder if this is a better fit than Voldemort's was. I wonder what I can make it do."_

_Potter watches with wide eyes. He's never seen so much blood before. He doesn't understand the point of hurting Lockhart now, unless…? Can the petrified still feel? Are they awake, trapped behind frozen eyes? Potter wants to ask, to ensure that Hermione is okay, but he can't bring himself to speak. This isn't the right time. Everything will be alright soon, anyway._

_There's a flash of green light and Lockhart will feel nothing._

_There's a flash of white light and Potter will remember nothing._

XXXXX

The whispers follow him down the hallway, but Potter ignores them. He doesn't know how anyone's managing to blame him for this; everyone saw him in the Quidditch game, and that's when Lockhart disappeared. It's bad enough that they expect him to be proficient in dark magic, but isn't cloning a little much even for the "Boy Who Will be the Next Dark Lord?" Or, do they expect time travel, or something? It's all ridiculous. Potter has no idea what happened to Lockhart.

He never notices the strangely intense look on Tom's face whenever Lockhart is brought up.

Even he, however, is unable to miss the anger on Marvolo's face when the Gryffindors get started. In fact, he'd be surprised if anyone could miss it. When Marvolo comes close to front, Potter can feel the foreign alter's intense fury settling into every cell of his being. He can feel their lips twitching down before curling up into a teeth barring sneer. He can feel their eyes narrow slightly before widening with malice. He can feel the way that their fists clench, their muscles tighten, everything within them prepares to fight. It's like nothing Potter has experienced before. He has the vague idea that perhaps this hatred is nothing compared to what Hateful possesses, but there's logic behind this hate, a calculating calm to determine what blow would cause the most pain in an enemy. Potter is glad that he's never felt it before.

And, he can tell, it's nothing that the other students are used to, either. It doesn't stop their rumors about him- on the contrary, it's fuel to the wildfire- but no one will be rude to his face. Brave Gryffindors mock his Dark Lord act when he's safely classrooms away. Cunning Ravenclaws avoid him like the plague. Loyal Hufflepuffs guard their friends from his gaze. The few Slytherins who originally mocked him about 'Lockhart, of all people, was the target!' now fall silent in his presence, making themselves scarce. The rest of the Slytherins offer themselves to his service, but Marvolo scorns them. His attention is focused on only one thing, now, and it's unlikely to waver.

To be fair, Marvolo still isn't the most frequently fronting alter. Potter retains his title of host, and even Lily experiences fronting more often than Marvolo does (James, for his part, is often inside with his sister, and Potter is thankful that Thomas is a capable flier). Still, the taunts were frequent enough, at first, for Marvolo to spend the majority of many days by Potter's side, and the affects of his presence are still lingering. Even Ron is weary of them, claiming that he'll talk more with them once Hermione is awake to act as a buffer, once all of the hype has calmed down, once "their" darker alters cease to show. Once they're more normal. Marvolo scoffs at that, and Tom seems strangely grim, but Potter accepts it. It's not as if James is there to occupy Ron, anyway, so perhaps it's for the best. Blaise, at least, still accepts Lily's presence. His cunning gaze worries Potter, but he can't afford to turn the other boy away now, so he supposes that if Blaise does figure something out, they'll just have to take it in stride.

The only individual still causing problems is Draco, and Potter doesn't know what to do about it. Claims of flaring PTSD won't be enough to get Draco off of their back now, not when Draco's convinced that he understands their wildly changing behaviors. Potter's not sure if he should laugh or cry. If mood swings are a necessary part of being the heir of Slytherin, that must be messed up family line!

A second, more sobering thought, is that not all of Tom Riddle's school followers were as oblivious to his switching as he had thought. It almost makes Potter wonder how badly he's hiding his own disorder, but at this point, he supposes that it doesn't matter much. People will think what they want to think. If that involves thinking that he's the heir of Slytherin, all that he can do is lie low, prove himself a better person than they're insisting, and get on with his life. Besides, the petrified will be waking up soon, and they can tell the world that it wasn't him. Just a little more patience is required from him now.

It would still be nice if Draco wouldn't be a pain until then. He's staring at Potter now, Potions parchment resting abandoned on his lap, smirk on his lips as if he and Potter share a secret that no one else knows. Potter wants to bonk him over the head and remind him that _the entire school_ suspects him of being the heir, that Draco isn't clever at all, but somehow, that sounds like a bad idea. He curls closer to the fire instead, trying to force himself to put meaning into a paper on a subject he can't understand. He'd curse Jay if he doesn't have the uneasy feeling that he would have done the same thing in her position.

 _I can probably help with that,_ Tom tells him, taking a quick glance down with Potter's eyes, _but you'll have to start over. For one thing, there's no way that Snape will be fooled by your space wasting tactics. For another, your handwriting is shit, and I doubt I could mimic it at wand point._

Potter bristles at that- his handwriting isn't _that_ bad, thank you very much, and if Tom really thinks that it is, he should see James's!- but mentally hands over the reins.

_Be careful…_

_Of course. What do you take me for, a troll?_ With a sigh, Tom gracefully pulls himself to his feet. Ignoring Draco and Daphne, the only two brave enough to sit with him at this late hour, he retrieves another piece of parchment and settles down in one of the grander chairs, proximity to the fire be damned. Draco shoots him another smug look, but he ignores it and the boy until he senses the other student has migrated directly in front of his resting place.

"Yes, Draco?" He says with a sigh, replacing the quill in the ink bottle and directing an almost exasperated glance at the boy.

"What?" Draco proclaims, raising an eyebrow as if to somehow prove his innocence, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"You could have picked a better time," Tom points out. Draco just shrugs in response, and Tom sighs in irritation. Somehow, he doesn't think that he'll finish the paper tonight.

"Are you going to speak or not?" He finally asks, "Because if you will not, pardon, but I have _far_ more important things to be doing."

Draco looks only a bit insulted. "Come on," he abruptly insists, "Blaise is out making up a test, or something, and our room is empty."

With one final glare, Tom puts aside his work and follows Draco up to their dorm. Better to get this out of the way, he supposes. The moment that the door closes behind them, he props himself against a wall and begins.

"Alright. What is it that you're so desperate to talk about?"

"I know that you're the heir of Slytherin!"

Tom just looks steadily back at Draco, not arguing- it's true, after all, but not in the way that he thinks- but conceding nothing. Truly Slytherin, but he's not surprised when Draco misconstrues it as defeat.

"Why do you work so hard to hide it? Sure, people might be upset at first, but it's not like they don't already suspect it. It's not like you're in Gryffindor, after all, you're in the house of snakes! You defeated Lord Voldemort when you were just an infant! Of course you're the heir of Slytherin. I know you might still be trying to make them all think that you're one of them, but you don't need them to ally with you anymore. You have all of us ready to follow you, and if anyone from another house will follow you, it's because they feel your power. You could do so much for us! For the entire wizarding world! You might have to be careful, of course, openly flaunting your power in front of Dumbledore… and there's that whole murder thing, I guess, but… but I'm sure you could find some way not to get caught. It's a real shame that you probably need to stay in school a bit longer. Why, I bet you could—!"

" _Draco_. For Merlin's sake, will you shut up?"

Draco looks, in Tom's opinion, like nothing more than a kicked dog. Tom has to control his urge to laugh.

"You just said it yourself. Being a Dark Lord right now isn't exactly a good thing. Even if I were the heir of Slytherin, why on earth would I ever admit to it? Wouldn't it be better to commit to nothing and allow people to form whatever opinions they want? This way, those who would desire me to be an innocent Boy-Who-Lived and nothing more may see me that way. Likewise, those who wish me to be their next Lord may think what they will."

Offense morphs into straight out pouting. Tom allows himself a small smile at Draco's frustration.

"Why don't you just admit it?" Draco demands. Tom tsks.

"For one thing, that would make me a rather poor Slytherin. For another, I doubt that you'd believe me."

"So you're really going to pretend not to be the heir?"

"I solemnly swear to you that 'Harry Potter' is not the Heir of Slytherin."

Draco curses, kicking his bed and then sulking when he has to then hide how much his foot hurts. "Bloody bastard," he mutters under his breath. He turns an accusatory glare on Tom. "Why won't you just admit it! Merlin. It's not like it makes you evil, or anything. I mean, I suppose that you've killed people, but they're Mudbloods, it's not like—"

"What did you just say." Borderline toneless but cold enough to freeze flames. Draco freezes, a deer in headlights. He still doesn't know when to quit.

"Oh please, like you care about the Mudbloods! I mean, there was that filthy little Know-it-All, but even Daphne knew what was up with _that…_ "

Tom feels another conscience behind his own and recognizes Harry's Anger. For a moment, he thinks of blocking the alter and regaining control of the situation. Then, with a laugh, he mentally steps out of the way. This will be good for Draco to see. Even _he_ knows better than to insinuate such things.

"Harry?" Draco frowns, "what's—?"

 **"Shut the fuck up!** You fucking… we are not _evil_. The only evil one is YOU, you godawful excuse for a person, no wonder your father fucking hates you, no wonder your only friends are nasty twats or brainless, spineless meatbags. You can use Mudblood as a curse word all that you want, but you're worse than all of them. Worse at everything. Your magic is pathetic, your potions are subpar at best, and your wit is noticeably lacking. You couldn't succeed in anything in life but whatever your father buys your way into. You're a rude little bitch who has no idea of how the real world works. Everyone hates you for it, don't even pretend like you can afford to be smug! No one is jealous, we all just hate you. You're _despicable_. You're a slug on the bottom of our shoes that won't either drop off or be fucking smooshed already. _God_ , do we all hate you. Don't you DARE talk about Mudbloods deserving to die. YOU deserve to die. YOU are pathetic and worthless. YOU have no right to insult anyone but your bastard Death Eater father and your slimy, pathetic friends who can't even find a better leader to fawn over **!"**

Anger's speech ends with a horrible scream, and Tom silently thanks Merlin that he had thought to put a silencing charm over the room. Draco, however, had to stand the full force of the rant.

"What the hell was…? Who _are_ you…?" Draco's face has gone white, and he's standing farther away than Tom remembers.

Tom meets Draco's eyes with perhaps more malice than necessary. "I don't think that I should be the one to tell you that."


	48. Chapter 48

_"I don't think I should be the one to tell you that."_

"I don't… I don't know what you mean," Draco stutters, eyes darting from side to side. Tom frowns in disapproval. Stupid boy, giving his every thought away like that.

"I think you do," he disagrees, managing to keep his voice even and mild. Perhaps he's playing up the contrast between himself and Anger, but could anyone really blame him? He might as well get _some_ enjoyment from this.

But Draco is shaking his head in denial. "Harry, I don't…"

"You ask me who I am but then refer to me as if I'm Harry?"

"You're not… oh Merlin, you really aren't… oh _Merlin_!"

"This isn't really worth getting so worked up over… For god's sake Draco, even Ron handled this better!" Of course, what he fails to mention is that James handled telling Ron better, but he figures that appealing to Draco's pride will be the best way to calm the boy down.

It works. As if automatically, Draco switches to staring at him in hurt annoyance. " _Weasley_ knew about this before me?"

"He seemed less likely to throw a hissy fit over it."

"I am not—!" Draco shakes his head in denial, but he's beginning to look disturbed again. "What are we even talking about? Alright, you're not Harry. Then who the hell are you?"

"I told you. That's not my business to share. If you'll allow me a moment, I'll retrieve someone better suited to the task at hand."

Draco stares at him uncertainly, and Tom just knows that the boy is waiting for him to leave the room and get Dumbledore or even Ron. Instead, smile tugging at his lips, Tom sits down on the bed, settles his head in his hands, and calls up Potter.

XXXXX

"Harry…?" Draco tries again, and Potter lifts his heavy head off of their hands and stares hopelessly at their friend. He'd like to damn Tom for getting them into this mess, but he's not sure that it could have been avoided. Unfortunately, he's just as unsure how to get them out of it.

"Almost," he settles on answering. Draco's expression could be comical, but all things considered, it's making Potter want to lock himself in the bathroom until he never has to deal with another person again. Now, he's actually wishing that Blaise wasn't busy. How nice a mediator would be!

"Draco…" Potter starts, stops, and stares. How can he explain this to someone with no knowledge of the Muggle World? Hermione had grown up there, Ron had had a father who practically tried to recreate the world there, and at least Blaise was open minded. Draco, however, probably still thinks of the mentally ill as raving lunatics in Azkaban. Lovely.

Taking the plunge, Potter asks, "You remember when I said that I was abused?"

"Yes because you keep falling back to that whenever you don't know how to explain something!"

"Because that _is_ the explanation. It's just… a difficult one. Okay. This is going to sound very, very strange, I know that it will. Please just… try to keep an open mind?"

Draco doesn't answer, but it's as close to consent as Potter's going to get. Slowly, he explains how when they were hurt as a child, they had needed a way to escape. They had been willing to do anything, _anything_ , in order to survive, but they couldn't have retained even the desire to do so if all of the abuse had been piled upon them. Even if such a thing had been possible, they never would have managed to keep up the façade at school of being remotely normal. Such a double life was impossible for one person to carry out… but easy enough to two, easier still for half a dozen. It was a strange coping mechanism, sure, but it was one that worked.

For a long time, Draco is silent, and Potter desolately wonders when the other boy is going to call him out for being a horrible lying freak. But the expression on Draco's face is…

"They must have really hurt you. For you to break that badly…" It's barely a whisper, but the unspoken confession carries.

_How much worse must you have been hurt if I'm not like you?_

"Yeah." Potter swallows hard. "They did."

"Who was that…? Before, I mean. The one who blew up at me, and then the one who said that… and who are _you_ , if you're not Harry?"

"My name's Potter. It's nice to meet you? I'm the host, the alter who uses our body the most often. You usually talk to either me or Harry… or Snake sometimes, I suppose…"

So then Potter has to explain about the system, carefully dancing around the fact that while Tom is an alter, certainly, he's not quite _their_ alter. Draco takes it all in solemnly. He only breaks his silence at the end, to ask who all knows this. When Potter mentions how Hermione hadn't been told but had _guessed_ , a small smile breaks out on the other boy's face.

"Figures."

That smile drops when he hears how Dumbledore had done the same. He doesn't even comment on Blaise learning their secret before him. For once, he doesn't seem haughty or proud but like a small, worried child. Potter wonders at how heavily this is affecting him, but he knows better than to ask. If Draco wants to bare his own soul in return, that's his choice. Potter won't push the issue.

Finally, the conversation is finished. Both boys remain seated on their respective beds, unsure how to proceed with this new information between them. Draco is the first to break the silence.

"If you need to stay at my house this summer, I don't think that my mother would mind."

"It's alright, Draco. Thank you, though."

Draco nods, still looking a bit lost. Then he shakes himself. "Blaise will be returning soon. It's late. I suppose we should be preparing for bed."

Potter follows Draco's lead. By the time that Blaise returns, the lights are off and the room is silent. Potter can tell Blaise that their roommate is no longer ignorant tomorrow. There's no need for everything to happen all at once, after all.

Wouldn't it be nice if things would go as planned for once?


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW for mentions of suicide, sexual abuse, victim blaming*  
> The latter two are trigger warned, but be careful nonetheless.

There's a scream, and it's coming from a first year Hufflepuff.

"He's dead!" She sobs. "He's dead!"

The Great Hall erupts into chaos as people fly to their feet and begin a mad rush to the door, perilously close to trampling the girl. Just in time, McGonagall grabs her and drags her out of harm's way.

"Stop this!" McGonagall shouts. She's ignored. She has not Dumbledore's authority, and the students won't obey her now. They're too excited by the prospect of finally seeing a victim who's dead.

"Got tired of petrifying them, eh, Potter?" Someone mutters.

"Oh, bugger off!" Draco breaks in before Potter can say a word. The older student glares and looks as if he'd like to protest such treatment, but the crowd separates them again before he can. Potter presses closer to Draco, trying not to become isolated himself. Truly, he's not even sure that he wants to see the dead body, but he has to know if this is something that he's done.

Of course, he soon realizes, it was a bit silly to think that he'd actually get to see anything. Not everyone could fit into the Hufflepuff Common Room, let alone an individual's dormitory. Besides, it's not as if any of the head of houses will let them inside.

"Go back to your dorms!" McGonagall demands, finally regaining control of the mob. "Today's classes are cancelled."

"I wonder what all the fuss is about," Draco mutters as they make their way back to the dungeons. "Who do you think is doing all of this? If it's not you, I mean."

"I don't know," Potter tells him. But he does have an idea, and this seems like a good a time as any to find out. Momentarily leaving the body on autopilot and ducking inside, he demands, _where have you been?_

 _I don't owe you a report on every facet of my life,_ Tom responds mildly.

_When someone's been found dead, I'd rather like to know that you weren't somehow responsible, yes!_

Tom stares at him coldly. _I promised you that I wouldn't use the Basilisk again. Do you doubt me?_

Potter doesn't respond. The answer, after all, can be nothing but yes.

Aiming to distract himself, Potter turns back to Draco. "Well, it looks like we've got the rest of the day to ourselves. What do you want to do?"

Draco looks like he's going to answer, but then his eyes slip behind Potter, and he frowns. "What's he doing here?"

Potter wants to say that it shouldn't be unusual to see one's head of house in his own Common Room after there's been a death, but Snape's eyes have locked onto his, and he knows that there's more to this then just delivering a message. Sighing, Potter's up and walking over to the professor before Snape can even open his mouth. Snape approves this with a forceful nod, and Potter follows him out into the dungeons. Potter's not surprised when their path takes them to the basement.

"Professor," he insists, hanging back a few steps, "I swear, it wasn't—"

"I know, Harry," Snape says, swallowing heavily. "Just look."

More worried than before, Potter follows Snape into the Hufflepuff's dorm. The boy's roommates are there with McGonagall and Professor Sprout, but only dull horror shines in their eyes, not malice or fear. Then Potter sees why.

The boy- Nitin, if that's what his roommate just whimpered- isn't petrified. He's hanging from a noose.

"What—?"Potter manages to choke out. His hands automatically try to form protective fists, but his fingers feel numb and won't cooperate. Potter can feel himself beginning to dissociate, and he desperately hopes that they won't switch now. What does this have to do with him?

"I believe that you need to see this, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says gravely, handing him a small piece of paper: Nitin's suicide note.

Words swim before Potter's eyes, and he can't read it. Certain words, however, pierce through his defenses: _Lockhart… hurt so badly… found the Basilisk… just wanted to make it stop… didn't want to hurt anyone…couldn't control it… sorry… so sorry…_

He can't make himself go back and reread what he missed. In fact, he can't do anything at all.

Potter faints.

XXXXX

When he comes to, Snape is looking at him so oddly that he knows that someone else has been out in his absence.

"Who?" He asks before his mouth becomes too dry for him to make any more sound. Snape wordlessly passes him a glass of water, shaking his head.

"You seem quite drawn to hiding under tables, Potter."

Potter just nods, mildly relieved that Snape doesn't care to try to differentiate them. Then another thought strikes him. "Did anyone else notice?"

"You were removed from the room while still in a daze. Your fellow classmates were themselves too upset to notice. You didn't fall to hysterics until I had brought you to my classroom."

Potter nods and finishes the water, stalling for time. Oh, please don't ask…

"Potter… did Lockhart…?"

No. No. The answer is no. No, he did nothing, nothing happened, we're fine, we…

To his horror, Potter feels himself shutting down. Emotions flash through him: terror battling with fury; the need to protect Lockhart battling with the need to protect themselves; self hatred and feeling like they deserved it battling with the sickening knowledge that their silence allowed others to be hurt, as well. Potter stares at a spot somewhere over Snape's left shoulder and says nothing.

Suddenly, Snape's arms are around him. If Potter wasn't frozen before, he is now, but Snape doesn't seem to notice. He's off in his own world at the moment. Potter barely hears him breathe, "I promised her that I would protect you. I'm so sorry."

XXXXX

The whispers follow him wherever he goes, but he's gotten good at not hearing them. He already knows what's being said. Some are still blaming him for somehow bewitching the other student into taking on the blame for the attacks. Some are convinced that the real culprit isn't a student at all but has the power to posses them and wreak havoc through ancient dark magic. Some know that the attacks are behind them, and they're more worried about the allegations of sexual abuse that are making the rounds. Ginny seems a popular target of attention for this last group. She resolutely denies any allegations of her involvement, but she seems increasingly distraught every time anything that could be related to the subject is brought up, and everyone now knows how withdrawn and nervous she was becoming even before the killer was (supposedly) revealed. Her brothers, at least, seem convinced, and they won't let her out of their sight. Or perhaps that's not their doing? The letters that Mrs. Weasley sent in nearly flooded the Great Hall. The only thing that distracted her from her fury that her daughter was hurt was her fury that the man who allowed it would soon be returning to Hogwarts. In that regard, only Tom's bitter loathing is more all consuming.

Potter ignores all of it, though he's long given up on the idea of being ignored in return. He's not sure how so many people discovered his involvement in the Lockhart mess, and it bothers him more with every passing day. He's more than tired of this strange mess of sympathy and disgust that's directed his way. He can only hope that with the school year winding down, he'll soon make his escape. Perhaps next year, no one will remember the troubles of this year. He'll return to being Dumbledore's Golden Boy, nothing more and nothing less. He wishes that he, too, could move on from everything that's happened. The only thing that gives him any comfort is that knowledge that, in a few hours time, his closest friend will be returned to him; Hermione will be unpetrified.

When the time comes, he and Ron are in the Hospital Wing waiting. A few others are there, sitting by their own friends and waiting with baited breaths to see life return to them. Watching Madame Pomfrey slowly make her way down the row of hospital beds is almost too much. By the time that it's Hermione's turn, Potter and Ron are practically mental with stress.

Even after the Mandrakes are applied, there's a moment where Hermione's heart still refuses to beat, and Potter's own heart about stops with terror. But then some color returns to her pale face, and she blinks a bit. Her eyes open slowly, and the emotions that flash through them are unreadable. She turns to Potter and—

"Oh, Harry, thank goodness! I was so afraid that they would get you next!"

Before either he or Ron can say anything, she's flown out of the bed and locked her arms tightly around Potter's neck.

"At least her muscles are working alright," someone notes with dry amusement, but Potter's more distracted by Hermione's low whisper.

"I don't know who's behind it, but I swear that I won't let them blame you for this." Then she's pulling back, returning to her hospital bed, blushing a bit.

"Sorry… oh, hello Ron."

Ron looks more than slightly affronted by that, and Potter pulls a smile onto his face at his friend's antics. Internally, however, he can't help the slight panic. That's right. Someone was behind this, had been behind it even before they'd met Tom. Had Nitin really been possessed, then? Had he attacked all of these students under Tom's guidance? The thought makes Potter sick as he's again forced to recall his compliant friendship with a would-be murderer.

It slips his mind entirely that Tom had mentioned that the one with access to his journal was a girl.

Then everyone is awake, and questions are being asked about who petrified everyone, and Hermione's quickly jumping to Harry's defense as subtly as she can. Potter knows how unlikely it was that she was able to see her attacker before the Basilisk got to her- really, no one seems to know who was behind it all- so her absolute insistence that he not be blamed is a bit touching. He'd like to stay and tell her so and to describe everything that happened in her absence, but he could never open up in front of so many witnesses, and besides, it's not much longer before Madame Pomfrey is demanding that the recovering victims be left alone to heal.

Some of the friends of the victims huddle together in small groups as they walk back to their dorms, as if frightened that whatever hurt their friends will return and get them next, but Ron and Potter both quickly split apart and proceed alone. Potter appreciates the solitude, really. It's a nice break from the usual annoyances of dealing with people.

Of course it doesn't last long.

"What are you doing outside your dorm at this hour, Potter?"

Potter looks up in amazement. "Daphne, you're in no place to judge. I was at the hospital wing to watch my friend wake up. What are you doing out here?"

A smile settles on her face, but it’s the most bitter smile he’s ever seen.

“Waiting for you, of course.”

“Well, congrats,” Potter says, sidestepping her to approach the dungeons. “I’m here.”

“Yes, you are.” Then: “I know what you did.”

“Oh?” Potter grits out. “Enlighten me. I haven’t been able to get a straight answer myself, you see.”

Suddenly, her hands are on his shoulders, and he finds himself whirled around to face her. His wand is in his hand within a moment, but wild though her face may be, she doesn’t look ready to attack him. Not physically, at least.

***TW for mentions of sexual abuse, victim blaming***

“You fucked Lockhart… You filthy, fucking _whore.”_ She pushes him back, and, shocked as he is, he almost falls to the floor. The disdain in her eyes is almost palpable. Suddenly, he’s furious.

“Getting raped by a grown man twice my age makes me a whore, does it?”

“Raped!” She scoffs. “As if you didn’t like it. You can’t fool me, you know. No, you can fool every other blind fool at this damn school, but I know the truth. You liked it. You’re no better than me, you _miserable_ little creep…”

“Daphne… Oh god…” Potter whispers, suddenly feeling a lot less angry and a lot more full of pity. As if absorbing his lost anger, Daphne’s face alights with rage.

“Don’t you dare, _Potter_. Dumbledore’s precious golden boy, miracle worker of the school… you’re lying to yourself just as much as you try to lie to me. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh, Daphne, it wasn’t your fault! Oh, Daphne, children _never_ know what they’re doing!’ Except when they do. You and me both, Potter, we asked for this. We wanted it, begged for it. I don’t know what you’re trying for with this innocent act of yours now, but you sure seemed knowing and willing then. Don’t even start with me, Potter. You’re just as bad as I am.”

For a moment, they stare at each other in silence. Another grim smile tugs at her lips. “Tell a single soul, and I promise that you’ll come to regret it.”

And she leaves him.

And he wants nothing more than to die.


	50. Chapter 50

"Harry!" Her voice sounds down the halls, and a few people turn their way as if hoping to see another fight break out. When they realize it's just Hermione calling for her friend, they turn away again, disappointed. Potter's mouth sets into a scowl before he can stop it, but Hermione, when she catches up to him, doesn't seem to notice.

"I've been looking all over you!" She admonishes. Ignoring Potter's muttered apology, she continues in a hush, "You still haven’t told me what happened."

Potter hears someone snickering at how close he and Hermione are, and his stomach churns to think of what rumors Daphne has been spreading. He takes a step away before responding. "Yes, I did. You're already caught up in all of our classes, and—"

She closes the gap between them again. "Oh, you know what I mean! Are you trying to hide something from me?"

Potter risks a glance at her face, and she looks so insulted that he knows that he has to give in to avoid seriously offending her.

"Not right now," he concedes. "Later, when no one else can hear it."

Brightening immediately, Hermione nods and disappears to finish an essay that’s no doubt already twice the recommended length. Some things will never change.

The mocking laughter that trails her, however, is new.

XXXXX

She meets him in the library after dinner, and Potter searches for a place to begin the story. Despite all of his good intentions in the hospital room, he suddenly finds himself very reluctant to touch upon the journal and the soul that it houses. After all, how could anyone else understand that even though Voldemort is evil, Tom might have saved their life? Besides, if Tom _does_ have a violent temper, surely telling Hermione this would only provoke him.

"Well?" Hermione prods, and Potter settles on the truth… mostly.

"I was hearing voices," he admits, "when the strange things started happening, and I was beginning to have black outs right before things happened. I thought that I was the killer, at first. I guess I didn't realize that the blackouts were happening when there _weren't_ any attacks, too. I didn't put it together, at first, not even when Jay… well, she got very, very angry about something, and… Harry decided no one should be switching out for a while. But I guess he stayed for a switch that really should have happened, because we discovered first hand just what Lockhart was up to." Potter pauses a moment to steady himself, but realizing that this might invite unwanted sympathy, he quickly barrels on. "Whoever was taking that wasn't the only alter that we discovered, though. The cruel alter from before? Blaise discovered that one. It's an introject of Vernon, apparently, extremely intolerant. As for people knowing about us, well, Draco found out, too, not too long ago…" This time, when Potter pauses, his nerves are too strong for him to continue. How many people know about them now? The entire teaching staff and four students? That's too many people! What will happen next, the entire school finding out?

Hermione waits for him to focus again before she begins asking questions. Potter tries to humor her without actually letting too many details slip, but he's afraid that he's not doing a very good job. She's not called the brightest witch of their age for nothing, after all, and it doesn't take long for her to look skeptical of some of his answers. Still, she says nothing about this, for which he is immensely grateful.

Finally satisfied, Hermione leaves Potter so she can check out more books—apparently, she's not convinced that she's completely prepared for the end of term exams even though everyone else is convinced that she is—and Potter goes back to his dorm. He needs time alone to think.

XXXXX

"Oops!"

Potter remains frozen, instinct insisting that unexpected touch means an attack, and the person who bumped into him, consequently dropping their meal onto him, laughs.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaims, distraught. "Here, let me help you!" Within moments, she and her wand have left Potter clean, and the student thanks her in such a sickly sweet voice that she glares daggers long past when they've left.

"You didn't tell me that the bullying was this bad!"

Potter moves only to further tense his muscles. "It's nothing that I can't handle."

Hermione's frown deepens. "You should tell someone! I know that Snape is a… a… well. But he might be able to make them leave you alone!"

Potter just snorts at that, throwing a dark glance at the row where the professors sit.

"Potter!" Hermione insists.

Ron breaks in to rescue him. "Come on, Hermione, don't be dense. It's not like the kids bugging him are exactly subtle about it. The professors here all just get weird when it comes to Harry."

"He's right, you know."

Defeated, Hermione throws down her fork and stands up in a huff. "Well, _I'm_ not just going to sit here and watch him be bullied—"

" _Stop saying that word._ "

"—whenever you're ready, Potter, I'll help you all, alright? But I won't sit there and watch it happen. If you're just going to let it happen…" She shakes her head firmly before grabbing her books and leaving. Ron and Harry aren't the only ones that watch her go. Potter's sure, though, that he's the only one no longer allowed to touch his food. It seems that Petal, too, is resistant to change.

XXXXX

Hermione watches them carefully for the next few days, but for a while, this lends to no results. She may look frustrated when someone spills Potter's ink all over him in Charms, but she says nothing. She may glare so long that the upper classman who "accidently" shoved Potter down a flight of stairs hurries away with a red face, but she doesn't try to tell any professors what happened. She's always watching, though, and it's not long before she begins to watch Daphne more closely than any other would-be bully. Potter's beginning to curse her intelligence.

It's a Friday when it all comes to a climax. Potter isn't prepared for any serious fights to break out, not with everyone so busy with test preparation, so when a group of students start chanting something under their breaths, he cheerfully flips them off and continues on his way. He has better things to worry about than a bunch of stupid second year students.

It's not until he hears Daphne's voice over the others that it occurs to him that this might be a larger problem than anticipated. As if reading his mind, the crowd begins to edge towards him. Beside him, Draco just scowls, quickening his pace and shooting the occasional glare behind them.

"I don't know what you did to piss them off, Potter," he mutters, "but I suggest you don't do it again."

Louder, to the crowd, he calls, "If you don't leave off, my father will hear about this!"

To Potter's amusement, a few of the younger students turn white and slink away from the mob. Daphne, however, remains strong, and so do the older students clustered around her. They're advancing faster now, despite Potter's refusal to really acknowledge them and Draco's continued spluttering that people dare to disrespect the power invoked by his father.

 Before the two groups can meet, another voice breaks through the fray.

"Do you all really have nothing better to do than chase around a second year? That's pathetic!"

Without having to look, even if he hadn't been able to recognize that voice, Potter already knows that Hermione's the one who said it. Now that there's a temporary hush in the hall, he can hear Ron beside her, reiterating his previous insistence that everyone would be better off if they just let Harry handle himself, see how well he's already doing? Potter, however, knows better. Trying to convince Hermione not to try to help would be as useful as trying to convince Snape to get a haircut. It's just not going to yield any results.

As expected, Hermione shakes Ron off and dashes in between Harry and his tormentors. Unfortunately, the shock of the crowd wears off about then, and many of them begin laughing. After all, what can little bushy haired know-it-all really do?

Daphne hushes them with a flick of her hand, moving out front to examine Hermione herself. A sneer touches her face.

"Oh, look. It's Potter's little Mudblood girlfriend come to the rescue. I—wait a second. Does that make her Lockhart's girlfriend by proxy, I wonder?"

Hermione's mouth drops open in shock, and even a fair number of Daphne's supporters draw back, obviously previously unaware of just what they had been getting themselves into. Daphne ignores all of them, staring at Hermione with an unwavering gaze, a certain hunger in her eyes that makes Potter feel ill. He recognizes that look. He wonders how many times that need to destroy has been on his own face.

It's not now, though. Instead, his face is hardening into a mask, fury laced with the appearance of calm. Potter can feel Tom behind him, Anger in front of him, and when his mouth opens, he's not surprised by the words that march out.

"You leave her the fuck alone."

More students back away now. Daphne just stares in amusement, and anger surges through Potter. His magic hums inside of him, barely contained. He's trembling as he adds, "You can say whatever bullshit you want to me, Daphne. Look, I don't even care if you're a coward about it and hide behind your stupid friends—oh, look, are they abandoning you now? Not really your friends, huh?—but don't you _dare_ drag anyone else into this. I can promise you, Daphne. You will regret it."

With his speech finished, all but a few of the older students back away, shame faced and trying to disappear into the crowd watching with baited breaths. The ones who remain cast anxious glances at Daphne, waiting for her to redeem them.

Daphne just laughs.

XXXXX

When Dumbledore returns, one of the first things that he does is call Potter to his office. If there was anything that Potter did miss about Dumbledore, these meetings were certainly not it, and his inclination is to put off the meeting as long as possible. However, something tells him that he doesn't need any more enemies right now. So, only a few minutes after being alerted that the headmaster wants him, Potter is standing outside of Dumbledore's door as if waiting for a life sentence.

"Come in," Dumbledore calls out, and Potter enters the room. Dumbledore smiles at him, the same eye crinkling smile as always. "Lemon drop?"

Potter shakes his head and sits in the same chair that he always does, trying not to fidget as he always does, refusing to meet the headmaster's eyes as he always does. His discomfort couldn't be more apparent. As always, Dumbledore ignores this in favor of his own agenda.

"I hear that quite a few things have happened in my absence."

"I suppose that you could say that," Potter offers, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. The headmaster beams in response.

"Yes, yes. Well, I'd dare say that you handled them all rather well, Mr. Potter."

Really now? Potter's hands tighten around the chair he's sitting in, and he has to fight off the urge to get up and throw the chair at the man in front of him. Handled things well? How? Is this in response to his failure to interfere with the petrifications? To his silence in regards to Lockhart? To his silence in regards to his classmates' cruelty? Just what is being complimented, here?

As if reading Potter's mind, Dumbledore notes, "Your classmates don't seem to understand how important a role you've played in stopping the attacks. Surely, the beast would have done far more damage had you not been in its way. It's a shame that the poor boy—Nitin, was it?—lost control so quickly. Truly a shame. But yes, Harry, you were very important, very important indeed."

Potter would laugh, would spit in the man's face. _You understand nothing_ , he wants to sneer. _Nor does anyone other than Tom, than younger_ Voldemort _!_ But he says nothing. He freezes a smile onto his face and waits. Maybe, if he perfects his smile enough, it will become permanent. Maybe eventually, people will realize how incredibly creepy is the one who always smiles even when the rest of him cracks and breaks. If his false cheer could scare them, even just one of them, it would pay off for all of the practice such a thing would require.

"I think I'll tell them that," Dumbledore muses.

"What?!" Potter's distant musings shatter in a moment. Dumbledore can't be planning to…

"Now, now, my dear boy. I know that you're quite modest, but you can't hide in the shadows all of the time."

"You can't," Potter whispers, feeling sick. Is Dumbledore trying to kill him? Is that what this is about?

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll just make sure that they improve their attitudes a bit. Snape tells me that your classmates have been rather cruel lately. Now, are you sure you don't want anything? Tea? Biscuits?"

"I have homework." Potter abruptly leaves without another word, without waiting to hear the headmaster's reply. If his classmates hated him before, they'll _despise_ him when Dumbledore is done with them, Potter's sure of it! And the headmaster must know this, he must…

Potter's beginning to understand how Daphne and Tom must feel. How ironic, if Dumbledore's ministrations were to create the very thing he aims to destroy.

Potter tries not to dwell on the fact that the thing destroyed would be a Dark Lord created from lack of care to a scared child.


	51. Chapter 51

Potter wonders what Dumbledore thinks that he's achieving by not using his name directly. The headmaster segued immediately from discussing the "truth" behind the petrifications to the cruelty inherent in bullying. He might have phrased it as the power of unification and the dangers of allowing students to slip through the cracks, but he's fooling no one. A few students may look bemused, but most are simply amused, throwing glances Potter's way and snickering whenever there's a sufficient pause to do so. Potter tries to ignore them, but he can feel that his face must be red from anger and shame. Beside him, Draco glares at anyone who looks their way for too long, and Blaise keeps telling him to just eat his breakfast and pretend that the mockers don’t exist. At least Potter's friends don't appear to the be the odd Slytherins out; most of his housemates seem convinced that this is a ploy by Dumbledore to turn them against Potter and that to be any less than completely supportive of the boy would be to allow Dumbledore to manipulate them. It's a fickle sort of support, but Potter will take what he can get.

"Does it really matter anyway?" Blaise consoles. "The year's almost over. Let these idiots return to their homes and spend a summer doing nothing to advance themselves. No one will remember this by next year."

But Potter's not looking forward to going home, either.

Unfortunately, time never has and never will bend to the whims of a single individual, not even one who's already mastered death. For many students, any callousness that Dumbledore's speech inspired in them is soon replaced by a panicked need to relearn or simply learn anything that they might have missed over the course of the year. Potter is no less distracted, and before he knows it, it's time for the exams. They're easier than he expected, and he's not sure if "he" knows more than he thought that he did or if the teachers actually took pity on their students.  He suspects the first. Ron certainly looks upset enough during dinner that Potter knows his friend struggled through the tests, and, though it's hardly an indicator of how she actually did, Hermione is a nervous wreck. "Oh," she keeps muttering to herself, "I _knew_ I should have studied that a bit more." No amount of reassurance will calm her, so after dinner, Potter wanders off alone to unwind. It's not very effective. By the time that curfew sets in, he's more than ready for bed.

This time, when there's a sudden crack around midnight, he's too tired for panic.

"Dobby?" he whispers, forcing his heavy eyes to open and focus. "What are you doing here?"

The house elf beams at him, though how he can be so cheerful when whatever wounds caused him to need so many bandages must be hurting a great deal, Potter isn't sure.

"Dobby wanted to make sure that Mr. Potter was alright, sir!" The house elf squeaks, and Potter's face breaks into a relieved smile.

"I'm fine, Dobby. You had me scared for a moment, though! I thought you had more bad news to deliver."

Dobby turns a bit red as if blushing, empathetically shaking his head… Potter's eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Dobby, there's more than that, isn't there? Come out with it. What did you mean to tell me?"

"Well, sir…" Dobby hesitates, eyes landing on anything but Potter. Potter wants to groan. Of course the house elf isn't allowed to tell him anything! How to get around that?

Then his curtains are moving, and he realizes that he has a larger problem on his hands.

"What is that noise… what on!... Potter, why is my house elf on your bed?"

"You're _Malfoy's_ house elf?" Potter asks Dobby in shock. Dobby doesn't respond, too busy staring at Draco in terror. Draco, for his part, is still staring at Potter, and Potter wants to groan. "He came to warn me at the beginning of the school year about an evil being here…"

Now Draco turns to Dobby in confusion. "How would you know anything about that?"

"Please, young Master. I'm not supposed to tell you."

"But only my father could…" Draco freezes, turning pale. Then he shakes his head in denial. "What could my father have to do with this? It's not like he hired Lockhart, and that kid was the one behind it all! No… no, Dobby, don't you lie to me, you stupid house elf, don't you—!"

Potter has to grab Draco to keep him from striking the cowering house elf. It's enough to watch Dobby punish himself for disobeying his orders, and he doesn't want to see Draco add on to that!

It's around this point that Potter realizes that Blaise is probably watching them all silently, and he wants to curse until his throat gives out. Could this day get any worse?

Abruptly, Draco frees himself and turns on Potter, demanding, "What the hell is going on here!"

Potter shrugs, trying desperately to find a way to convey the wider truth to Draco without incriminating himself or giving up the secret of Tom. "Perhaps… perhaps Nitin wasn't acting of his own free will? Maybe something possessed him, and the item came from your father, or…?"

"My father wouldn't—!"

"Don't be dense," Blaise finally interrupts. "Of course he would."

The two boys glare silently at each other (or at least in each others' general direction; why had no one thought to turn on a light?), and Potter turns back to Dobby. The house elf looks absolutely terrified, and Potter just wants to flop back onto his bed in exhaustion. Of all the nights for this argument…

"Dobby, just tell me whatever you wanted to tell me," he sighs. "It's alright. Draco won't tell his father, I don't think, and Blaise… well, he really shouldn't be here right now, but I guess it doesn't really matter."

Dobby doesn't look convinced, but he nods even as his hands go to pull his large ears as punishment. "It's still here, sir."

"… You're going to have to be a little clearer than that, Dobby."

Dobby glances nervously at the onlookers, but he bravely turns back to Potter and says in what he must think is a whisper, "the _diary,_ sir."

"What diary?" Draco asks just as Blaise questions, "Potter, what on earth is he talking about?"

"… ah. I see. Yes. Well, thank you, Dobby. Yes, I know that the diary is… somewhere, but that doesn't exactly help as I haven't the faintest idea where. That's fine, though. I'll handle it, really." Potter sounds guilty and he knows it, but, really, what can he do? It's the truth; he has no idea where Riddle's diary is. And he will handle it! He already convinced Riddle not to hurt anyone, right?

Draco is less appeased. "What diary?! What does my father have to do with a stupid diary!"

"Please, sir!" Dobby begins backing away again, looking ready to disappear. Potter begins to feel bad for him. If Draco is this angry, how would Mr. Malfoy react if he knew how he'd been betrayed?

"Wait, Dobby."

The house elf stops to stare wearily at Potter. Potter sighs again, feeling the beginnings of a headache building, but he manages to get out, "Are you going to get in trouble for this?"

Dobby shifts his weight anxiously. "Dobby will have to punish himself for this, sir."

 "Of course you will! Stupid house elf."

"Shut _up_ , Malfoy. He first came here to save my life!"

"Yes, well." Unable to think of a suitable response, Draco resorts to sitting down on his bed to sulk. Potter rolls his eyes at the immaturity in front of him before a thought hits him.

"Draco, how much control do you have over your fathers' possessions? Specifically, say, the servants?"

"If my father ordered him not to talk, he won't talk. You saw him!"

"Yes, I did, thanks for assuming I'm that dense. I was wondering if you could free him."

"Free him—No! No, I'm not going to free him!"

"Why not? Really. He tried to save my life. He's risking horrible punishment by coming here to try to save people _again._ Obviously, he's not treated well."

"He's a house elf! He lives to serve us. What would a freed house elf even do, anyway? He relies on us for survival!"

"He's half dead! Look at him, he's half dead!"

They all pause to really look at Dobby, and Dobby's eyes have gone wider than saucers.

"Young master could free Dobby?" He whispers, and there's so much hope in his voice that Draco has to look away.

"My father would kill me…"

Potter fishes desperately. "Even if it would win you Harry Potter's favor?"

Draco glances at him as if to say, _keep talking._ Potter quickly adds, "You wanted me to visit your house this summer, right? Well, of course I'm meant to promote unity, and it'd be rather important for me to celebrate a family choosing to take a step towards the light by releasing their poor, rundown, hero of a servant."

"How will you spin him off as a hero? I don't want my father involved in this."

"He came to warn me about the Basilisk. He's a house elf, of course he can sense a disturbance as powerful as the release of another magical creature."

Blaise's laughter sounds before Draco can respond. "Potter, you're a true Slytherin, you know that? Go on, Draco. Free the elf. I'll vouch for you."

Draco scowls at Blaise's winning smile, but then he hesitantly removes one of his socks and holds it vaguely in Dobby's direction. When no one moves, he flushes. "Take it, you stupid thing!"

Dobby obeys almost reverently. Then he turns shining eyes towards Potter.

"Harry Potter has freed Dobby!"

Draco looks like he wants to protest Potter getting all the credit, so Potter quickly says, "Oh, don't mention it. You understand the story we're telling people, right?"

Dobby nods forcefully, tears falling from his large, large eyes. Potter laughs uncomfortably.

"Alright, Dobby. Thank you. You can leave now. Just… never try to save my life again, alright?"

Blaise snorts at that, but Dobby nods, smiles so widely that Potter half fears his face will crack, and then disappears with another loud pop. As the echoes fade, silence descends upon the room. Then Blaise snorts.

"Potter, you can explain tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

It's a good idea, and Potter does the same. Surely a good night's sleep will let him come up with a suitable story for the involvement of a diary!

XXXXX

He wakes up with no idea what he'll tell Draco and Blaise about the diary but no idea how to put off doing so. Normally, if he needed a break from his fellow Slytherins, he would eat at the Gryffindor table. Right now, that somehow seems like a bad idea. With the teachers supposedly on the lookout for any acts of peer abuse (because if another student is allowed to be mistreated, they too might try to release an ancient evil beast, isn't that encouraging), no one is being blatantly cruel to Potter, but the stares follow him everywhere that he goes. He's forced to remain among the Slytherins as much as possible, and even Ron and Hermione are reluctant to come near him too often.

Soon, however, Potter realizes that this works to his advantage. Who would want to have a serious conversation with him when every minute spent talking could make them a more appealing target? Besides, the school year is winding down, and Draco and Blaise have better things to worry about than a conversation they had while half asleep. Slowly, Potter is able to relax. It looks like Tom's secret will be safe with him, after all.

Before he knows it, the school year is over, and everyone is heading home. He schedules the meeting with Draco and his family, he bids goodbye to Blaise, he gives Ron and Hermione his phone number, and then he's off the train and returning to the Dursleys. They reach the house without a problem, and Potter makes it all the way to his room before the panic crashes over him.

Now that he's back with the Dursleys, he finally has to consider which alter didn't see a problem in Lockhart sexually abusing them… and, more importantly, _why_.

 


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for implied SA

It's the largest house that Potter's even seen, but Draco doesn't even pause while walking up the neatly set stone path to the impressive front door.  He must already be used to the show of it all.

"Come on!" He calls impatiently to Potter. "Mum will want to know that you arrived alright."  Draco throws one last suspicious glance at the road where the Dursleys' car still sits, no doubt due to its owners still gaping at the little that the magical barriers allow them to see. Now grimacing himself, Potter hurries away from them and follows Draco inside.

The front hall is no less impressive than the outside of the mansion, and Potter struggles to control his own urge to stare. Luckily, his attention is claimed by the woman making her way down the front spiral staircase to meet him.

"Hello, Harry," Narcissa says, smiling warmly. "I'm so glad that we finally have the chance to meet."

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for inviting me." Potter tries to keep his grip firm as he shakes her hand, and Draco shifts impatiently beside him.

"Where's Dad?" Draco asks, and Narcissa sighs.

"He has work to do, Draco. Don't bother him."

Draco pouts a bit at that, and Potter worries that maybe his presence isn't as welcome as Draco made out that it would be, but then Draco is grabbing his arm and dragging him to the kitchen, so he supposes Draco's enthusiasm might make up for it.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Draco tries to keep his eyes on the cupboards, but Potter caught how Draco's eyes searched his frame as he said that, and Potter knows that he's looking for signs of malnutrition.

"If you're hungry, sure." Potter isn't actually hungry himself- nerves, he supposes- but he figures it might not be polite to turn down food. He's not entirely sure how manners work when your friend's family is so rich, let alone when they're pure bloods, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Surely Draco of all people wouldn't offer food he doesn't actually intend Potter to accept!

Luckily, Draco doesn't seem to have had any ulterior motives, and both boys eat a quick snack before Potter follows Draco up to his room. Again, he's surprised by the obvious signs of wealth and magic. Draco has a lot of Quidditch posters, many of them signed, as well as various trinkets from the games he's attended. His bookshelf is filled with huge tomes, many of them about creating potions, and the ingredients of said potions are kept in a small case beside his bed. Another glass case holds various awards and expensive looking tokens. His room is very neat, and Potter suspects that the Malfoy's have another house elf responsible for house work.

Draco seems not to notice how awe struck Potter is. He's too busy pulling down some kind of brightly colored board game.

"Want to play?" He asks, and Potter nods. Of course, by the time that he actually understands the rules, there's barely any time left for them to actually play before they have to go downstairs for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy are waiting for them at the large dining room table, and Potter feels his nerves return to him.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," he says, and Lucius nods in return, seeming not to notice his wife's glare.

"Hello, Harry." Narcissa greets Potter as if atoning for her husband's rudeness. "Are you alright with venison?"

Potter says yes, though he hasn't the slightest idea what he's being offered. Draco seems to pick up on this, and when they sit down opposite Narcissa, he whispers to Harry, "It's just deer. If you don't like it, just leave it on your plate, and Rosy will take it from you when the course ends. My parents won't mind."

Potter just nods at him in thanks, conscious that the cold look of Lucius is still aimed his way.

Dinner is a quiet affair, but Potter doesn't mind that. He's just glad that his time at Hogwarts introduced him to good food and decent table manners; he's sure that otherwise, he would be making a fool of himself. As things stand, he feels that he's making a decent impression. Narcissa seems to enjoy his company, at least, though Potter suspects that she's just glad to see that Draco has a friend with more brains than do Crabbe or Goyle. Potter might not be able to keep up with political conversations or understand all of the references that she makes, but at least he can report good things about his classes.

It's not until Narcissa mentions the recent chaos at Hogwarts that her husband joins the conversation.

"It's a shame, truly, that Dumbledore was allowed back after he made such a mess of things."

Lucius sends a pointed look at Potter who then feels inclined to respond: "Yes, it is."

Draco snickers as both of his parents try to hide their shock. Potter further explains, "Dumbledore has made many mistakes during the last few years, sir. I won't deny that he should have been more thoroughly investigated before being allowed to return to Hogwarts. I suppose that the council that suspended him fears Voldemort more than any damage he might cause, though."

"Lord Voldemort, you say?" Lucius replies.

Potter nods. "Yes, sir. There are rumors that Nitin was possessed, sir, and Voldemort seems the most likely culprit."

Both ignore Draco's panicked look. Lucius swallows heavily. "I see. And you believe these rumors, Potter?"

"I would like to think that I know better, sir."

Long seconds pass before Lucius averts his eyes, and Narcissa quickly changes the subject. Eventually, even Draco relaxes, and everything seems fine by the time that Draco pulls Potter upstairs to finish their game. Of course, Potter's managed to forget some of the rules that he just learned, and it takes a while for Draco to sort out the mess of his memory before they can really play again. Then, before they know it, it's time for Potter to leave.

Potter thanks both Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy profusely before saying goodbye to Draco and climbing into the Dursleys' car. He can see Mr.  Malfoy flinching at that, and Draco can't hide his disgust at Harry's relatives, but Potter chooses not to acknowledge that. Nor does he acknowledge that the Dursleys are still trying to catch glimpses of the mansion long after they've passed the point where it could be visible to them.

"Freaky… freaks!"Vernon Dursley mutters, but Potter can see the greed in his eyes and knows that Vernon would be willing to accept even a wizard if it would increase his own wealth.

Beside Vernon, Petunia is silent.

They arrive back at Number 4, Privet Drive, and Potter goes up to his room to prepare for bed. The Dursleys don't try to bother him. Potter supposes that they must still have some fear of adult wizards, and the idea that they only allowed him to visit Draco because they didn't want the Malfoys to retaliate if they didn't makes him laugh.

Potter turns off the lights and gets into bed. He's more tired than he thought he would be, and he must fall asleep almost immediately. It's a surprise when, sometime around midnight, his door creaks open and a dim light enters his room.

"Filthy freak," a voice mutters, and Potter tenses. What is Petunia doing in here? Surely if she wanted to hurt him, Vernon would be with her…but how could she be brave enough to hurt him tonight?

Someone is hovering at the end of Potter's consciousness, and he can feel himself starting to black out. He tries to fight it, wanting to remain present to protect the body or at least watch this unknown alter protect it, but it's too hard to keep a grasp on the present.

It's only when he's already fading that he realizes that while he might have left the front, Harry is still there to watch.

XXXXX

(TW for implied SA)

Harry knows that he shouldn't be here to watch this. If whatever is going to happen is bad enough that Potter isn't allowed to see it, he, of all people, shouldn't be able to touch the memory with a ten foot pole. But he still remembers how he remained present when the unknown alter faced Lockhart, and he knows with a sickening certainty that this situation is no different. Perhaps it's that knowledge that allows him to see Aunt Petunia drawing closer and standing over him.

"Freak," she whispers again, voice catching. "You filthy _freak._ I knew that we wouldn't be able to save you. I tried so hard… I tried to raise you right. I tried to beat the magic out of you. I tried exorcisms, punishments, religion, everything! But nothing worked. That _magic_ , that filthy _magic_ , it always _clung_ to you. Nothing that we ever did would make it let go of you. I should have just killed you when you showed up on my doorstep. It would have been more humane."

Aunt Petunia pulls back their covers, and Harry notes how shallow their breathing is, giving the impression of sleep. They must not be meant to hear this, but it doesn't seem as if their aunt would notice even if they weren't bothering to pretend ignorance. She's lost in her own world.

"You don't look like her," she mutters, staring at him. "You look nothing like that filthy sister of mine… Not when your eyes are closed, at least." Harsher, she commands, "don't you dare open them!... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My sister's child, and look at how I'm treating you… they took her from me, you know. Those _wizards_. I told her not to marry that Potter boy, but she didn't listen, and now she's gone. And now we're stuck with you. But of course you already knew that… Oh, forgive me, child. How long has it been? All of this time, and I… It was too much, you see. I left you alone at that school of theirs, the same one that stole my sister from me. I could only see the freak in you when I saw you. But really, you almost look normal, you know. As long as you keep your eyes closed, we can pretend…"

She reaches out to touch his face, and Harry feels sick. Cloth shifts further, and Harry disappears inside. He's seen enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we reach the final reveal and chapter of Book 2. With any luck, Book 3 will begin on time next week, but I might need additional time to finish outlining the plot. From here on out, after all, things might be rather different for Harry.
> 
> As always, thanks to all who read, reviewed, favorited, and subscribed!


	53. Book 3 Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter in one to make up for the length between updates

He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know _when_ he is. No one inside will acknowledge his questioning, and there's no one outside to ask. He's alone in a small hotel room, it seems, and he just got out of bed. His hair is a mess, but his clothes seem neat enough, if not remotely muggle enough. He must be in a wizarding room, then. As if agreeing with him, the mirror stirs and tells him that he needs to clean himself before going anywhere. Potter grimaces.

Ignoring the mirror's advice, Potter changes into the robes that he finds in the middle dresser drawer. He splashes his face with water but forgoes searching the bathroom for any hygienic products. For his hair, he gives it a cursory combing with his fingers before deeming it presentable. It's not as if he has anyone to see today; not to his knowledge, at least. It occurs to him then that whoever was here before him might have left some clue as to what's expected from him, and he sets himself to checking the room for any notes that could enlighten him. The first is easy enough to find. Sticking to the door is a small note in neat but unfamiliar handwriting that reads: _They think you're Neville Longbottom. Don't let anyone see your scar._

More confused than before, Potter returns to the bed to think. Just how long has he been here? Why is he here to begin with? There must be some answer somewhere, but all that Potter can find is a clue to the current date. It must be past his birthday because on the desk in the corner rests a multitude of cards and gifts, all already opened. From Ron are a sneakoscope and a newspaper clipping about the _Daily Prophet_ Grand Prize Galleon Draw that bought Ron's family a trip to Egypt. Hermione has given him a Broomstick Serving Kit, and Potter's sure that the elegantly crafted ivory Hogwarts miniature complete with flags blowing in an imagined wind is from the Malfoys. Blaise's gift is small and simple; a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_ and the most recent issue of the paper wrapped around a thick glove that's apparently meant to absorb and rebound minor hexes. Potter wonders idly how Blaise has access to so many impressive things before his attention is drawn to what must have been Hagrid's gift: a snarling book that's straining against the belt that binds it. Another scrawled note has been stuck to its bindings. _DO NOT RELEASE: WILL BITE._

Shaking his head at Hagrid's antics, Potter moves on to the next item sent from the Hogwarts grounds. The annual letter about the next school year has arrived, and this time, it comes with a permission slip regarding visitation rights for Hogsmeade. Potter discards both, knowing that he has no way to get his guardians to sign anything for him, let alone a note regarding magical villages. Head beginning to ache, he's preparing to return to bed and hoping that things make more sense tomorrow when he notices another gift wedged between the desk and the wall. When he sees a message left on the packaging, he thinks that it must be another note from his predecessor, but then he recognizes the handwriting as Tom's. _Thought you might want to know,_ it reads. Curious, Potter opens the package to find another newspaper portion, this one from a paper called _The Quibbler._ It's dated from 1973 and, on the front page, there's a large picture of a witch that the paper calls Sometimes Chase. Potter stares at the picture for a moment, fascinated. As do all wizarding pictures, this one portrays movement, and it's captured the witch in the middle of… well, something. At first, she's smiling at the camera, but then her attention seems to be captured by something in the distance. Her face changes. For a moment, it looks like she's about to fall asleep or collapse, but then she shakes herself and stares back up at the camera, looking for all the world like a different witch. Potter knows what the caption will say even before he dares to look. "Sometimes Chase: First Known Witch With A Condition That Muggles Call 'Multiple Personality Disorder.'"

Potter sets the paper down reverently, almost afraid to read it and tarnish the hope that's welling up within him. It was written a long time ago, but surely knowledge has only grown since then! Somewhere out there, someone in the wizarding world knows about his condition. Somewhere out there, there are wizards that will believe him and understand him and he won't even have to explain himself. Potter has to sit down in shock, head spinning. _No_ , he tries to tell himself. _Don't get carried away_. But he can't deny that he's hopeful, and the strength of his yearning scares him a little. To distract himself, he picks up the other newspaper, the one that Blaise sent him. The cover story is much more attention grabbing than was that of _The Quibbler_. Apparently, a murderer by the name of Sirius Black is on the loose. The man's picture snarls and screams at Potter, and Potter's glad when he's finished the paper and can place it back where he found it. It's unnerving.

Potter spends a few more minutes exploring the room, but he tires quickly, and he soon finds himself back in bed. He can figure things out tomorrow. Without the Dursleys or any professors to control his schedule, he has all the time in the world.

XXXXX

Once Potter gets up the courage to leave his room, he finds that time has a tendency to pass surprisingly quickly. It isn't long before he's explored Diagon Alley as thoroughly as he can, and he gets his school supplies long before the term is set to begin. Nevertheless, he soon begins to run into other classmates as he explores. At this point, he sees no way around revealing his identity soon, but he still finds himself ducking into the nearest shop or crouching low behind merchandise to avoid anyone that might recognize him. He's not sure why he's suddenly so afraid for his location to be known, but the feeling won't be shaken.

It's a relief when the day to meet Ron and Hermione (as was specified in their letters to him) finally comes. Potter searches Diagon Alley for them slowly, still feeling the need to be able to suddenly disappear in case someone other than one of his friends notices him. When he finally finds said friends eating at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, he's so relieved that he could hug them. Then they catch sight of him, and their relief is no less apparent.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cries, nearly flinging herself at him. "Where on earth have you been?"

"Yeah, mate," Ron pipes up. "My parents have been worried sick."

Potter just blinks at him, earlier panic forgotten. "Your parents?"

"I think it's because of Sirius Black—did you read about him, Harry? He's a murderer that's escaped from Azkaban. I imagine that Ron's parents weren't happy to know that a thirteen year-old was wandering around on his own with a killer like that loose! Really, Harry, where have you been?"

"No," Ron interrupts before Harry can answer. "It's more than that. The entire wizarding world is in an uproar. My dad says that the entire Ministry of Magic's been tearing their hair out trying to find you and Black both. Here, come on, they'll want to see that you're okay."

Reluctantly, Potter follows Ron to meet his parents. He's not surprised that upon seeing him, Mrs. Weasley immediately rushes forwards and scoops him up in a bone crushing hug. He's also not surprised when she begins to shout at him.

"How could you run away like that! The Muggles must be so worried about you! Everyone was worried about you! How could you do this! If you were my son, I would have locked you up every moment that you weren't in school out of fear that you'd run again! Do you know what kind of danger you put yourself into! How could you ever think that such a thing was a good idea! Young man, you—"

"Mum. Stop hovering. I'm sure that he had his reasons."

Potter turns to thank Ginny for her interference, but something stops him. She's still looking at her mother with an intensity that he didn't realize that she was capable of, and there are heavy bags under her eyes. When she catches him staring, she smiles at him, but she looks exhausted and far older than he remembered her being.

Despite her daughter's words, Mrs. Weasley looks like she wants to continue her verbal barrage. Thankfully, Potter is saved by the arrival of Fudge, the minister of magic himself.

Perhaps not so thankfully. Immediately, Fudge begins a lecture not dissimilar to that which Potter just escaped. Potter begins to grow anxious. All of this panic because of one lone maniac? He knows that people are going to be worried about him in particular because he "defeated" Voldemort, but this seems a little excessive. When prompted, he promises Fudge that he won't run off again, that he'll in fact do everything within his power to stick to areas and people whom he already knows will be safe, but this seems to reassure no one. When Potter leaves to go shopping with Ron and Hermione, he knows that they're being followed by agents of the Ministry. Even Hermione acquiring a new pet, a cat named Crookshanks, does little to lift his spirits.

After Potter gathers his things and joins the Weasleys at the Burrow, his spirits only drop further. The urge to run away has returned, and he can't help but feel trapped. He retires early to bed, but he's restless and can't force himself to settle. Desperately, he tries again to reach someone inside who can help him. The silence that meets him only further weighs on his nerves. To make matters worse, he's beginning to feel like he's being watched.

 _Relax_ , a voice in his head laughs quietly, _it's just me._

Potter relaxes slightly, but his nerves refuse to be soothed. _I was wondering where you went._

_Forgive me. I had other matters to attend to._

_I'm sure… how did you manage to find that newspaper article that you gave me?_

Tom doesn't answer, and Potter tries not to grind his teeth too hard. It seems that no one is willing to tell him anything right now.

_I suppose it's no use asking you why I woke up in a hotel room and why that has everyone so panicked?_

_I won't tell you what happened over the summer, no. But I know why everyone is so frightened, yes._

_… that's not an explanation, Tom._

_Well aware._

Potter considers blocking the other boy from his mind, too tired to put up with mind games. Just as he's made up his mind to do so, Tom sighs.

_You could have simply asked, you know… Alright. Yes, Potter, everyone is upset because Black has escaped. But it's not just your… involvement with Voldemort, shall we say, that worries them._

_Potter, Black escaped because he has a very specific target in mind. He's looking for_ you _._

XXXXX

XXXXX

There's only one compartment available on the entire train, and even that isn't empty. There's a man sleeping there, and Harry wants to scream. Silently, he curses how the Ministry of Magic slowed the Weasley family down; perhaps if everything had gone a little quicker, he could have had his own compartment in the back where no one could bother him with their empty noise. Even Ron and Hermione feel like too much for him, right now. Tom, watching silently from the background, is more than enough.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asks anxiously. Harry winces as he nods. There's no polite way to tell her that he wants to be left alone, that her presence is grating. It would be one thing if she could just _notice_ the effect that she's having on him, but, as usual, it's all gone over her head. She hasn't seen him all summer, and she's determined to make up for lost time.

"So why weren't you with your family?"

Harry shrugs, and Hermione frowns and continues, "Really, Harry? I know that they're not good people, but you can't just run away like that! You're not an adult, and you're just _barely_ thirteen. You can't expect to be able to live alone like that."

"I had my reasons," Harry mutters, echoing Ginny. He's sure that it's true. Whether or not he can remember those reasons is irrelevant.

Hermione doesn't seem to agree. "Harry, you could have been killed! Why didn't you ask the Weasleys to help you? I'm sure they would have picked you up!"

"I couldn't owl anyone."

"When you first got away, then! And you could have called me! My parents don't know you, but I'm sure that they would have let you stay with us for a little while if they knew your situation."

Harry eyes her skeptically, and she colors. "It's true!"

"Look, she's just worried, that's all." Ron breaks in. "You can't just disappear like that."

Harry throws up his arms in defeat. "Alright, alright, I get it! The Boy Who Lived must be within public view at all times lest something unspeakably awful happen _again._ "

"But why did you do it in the first place?"

"It's none of your business!" Harry bites out before he can stop himself. Hermione makes a sound of hurt, and Ron glares.

"Now look here—"

"Harry, we're just trying to—"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW."

Ron and Hermione both pause. Harry groans and leans against the window, wishing that he could disappear. He doesn't want to talk about this. Maybe he doesn't have to.

"I don't know, okay? I can't remember. I don't even know when I left the Dursleys, just that one day I was there, the next I was in a hotel room on Diagon Alley and my birthday had already passed. Are you happy now?"

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry…"

Harry shrugs again. "Honestly, I'm used to it. Par for the course and all. Yeah, it's an usually long length of time to lose, but I guess I got lucky last summer with the Weasleys rescuing us, and all. I should have known it would be bad."

Ron closes his gaping mouth before opening it again to ask, "Do you think that's why you ran away? Because the muggles treat you so badly?"

"I don't know why else I would have left."

"Do they—"

"Please shut up now."

Ron bristles at the harsh treatment, but Harry's past caring. He wraps his arms around his head and decides to copy the professor in sleeping for the duration of the ride. He's managing rather admirably until the train suddenly stops and all of the lights go out.

"Do you think that the train's broken down?" Hermione asks, but no one knows how to answer her. A moment later, the door slides open, and Neville and Ginny join them and begin asking the same type of question. Harry's starting to get frustrated by all of the noise. Then the teacher—Lupin, judging by the name on his briefcase—is woken up by it and begins to add to it, and Harry could scream. For once, Hermione's fallen silent, and he wonders if she's feeling the same way. It is a little much to take in all at once. And then the door is sliding open _again_ , and…

A cloaked figure towers over everyone in the compartment. Lupin jumps up to confront it, and when the creature reaches a hand out towards him, the hand is bony and pale, slick and scaled. It reminds Harry of something dead and rotting. Startled, he looks up at where the creature's face is hidden, trying to get a better glimpse at it. As if sensing his curiosity, the creature removes its hood and sucks in harshly.

A cold settles over the room and permeates through Harry's body until he feels that it's piercing his soul. Everything in the room seems to slow to a stop. A roaring sound builds in Harry's ears, building in intensity as if ascending towards a climax. At around the pitch where he's expecting to hear the stereotypical glass shattering, a scream breaks through the mental bubble he's building around himself. It sounds like a child, a young boy, and terror colors everything.

"No, NO! Please don't, please, I'll be good, I promise, I'll be good, please, please, no, NO NO NO _PLEASE_!"

Everything goes black.

XXXXX

This time, when his eyes open, he's managed to fit himself underneath one of the seats, seemingly by curling up into the smallest ball possible. Potter crawls out and stands up without meeting anyone's eyes, but he can't stop himself from noticing the expressions on their faces. Everyone is staring. Ron seems to be in shock. Lupin simply seems despondent, and Hermione wears her pity openly. Neville looks more horrified than he had when confronted with Fluffy. Ginny looks… coolly appraising. Then she blinks once, twice, and her face melts into grim acceptance. Potter wants to hide.

Lupin breaks the silence and offers chocolate. Potter accepts some, seeing no way around it, but he doesn't eat it, and he's glad when the professor leaves to talk to the train's conductor. Neville leaves immediately after, looking as if he's set to pass out. Ginny stays a moment longer, eying Potter as if she knows something that the others don't before she, too, leaves. Ron sits down heavily. Hermione just continues to stare as sympathetically as she can manage.

"What happened?" Potter croaks, throat raw and soar.

"They're Dementors," Hermione murmurs. Then, louder, "Lupin—the teacher, you know—he says that they're the guards for Azkaban. They must have been looking for Sirius Black. Lupin cast some sort of spell to make them leave, but you'd already…"

"It's nothing to feel bad about," Ron finally says, shaking himself out of his stupor. "They make you feel as if you'll never be happy again… I'm sure lots of people took it badly."

Potter isn't reassured. "Was I the one screaming, then?"

Neither of his friends will meet his eyes. Hermione whispers, "I think that Bruises came out."

"Alright then." Potter nods and sits back down. No one speaks until Lupin returns. The first thing that the professor notices is that none of them have eaten their chocolate.

"I haven't poisoned it, you know!"

Wearily, Potter brings the sweet up to his mouth and takes a bite. He's surprised to find warmth spreading throughout his body, and the moment that Lupin turns to talk to Hermione, he hides the remainder of the chocolate in his bag. He doesn't appreciate being given a potion without being warned first, antidote to whatever just affected him or not.

They reach Hogwarts quickly, and Potter is glad to disappear into the crowd of students as they approach the castle by carriage. However, he's Harry Potter, and his anonymity never lasts long. As soon as all of the students are streaming towards the castle in one giant mass, he recognizes whispers containing his name. An unknown student fights their way through the crowd to reach him only to sneer, "did you really faint?"

Potter plans to ignore them, but they step in front of him, demanding attention. "Hey! I asked you a question! Are you too bloody chicken to answer me?"

"Are you really that dense?" Someone else breaks in, and a hand grasps Potter's arm and guides him around the student. The student glares but allows the crowd to swallow them up again. Potter can't blame the student for not wanting to chase after them. Few people are willing to mess with Blaise.

"Thanks," he mutters. Blaise just looks at him in worry.

"Are you alright?"

Potter tries not to let his annoyance show. "Fine, thanks."

He's glad when someone else calls for Blaise and he can continue into the Great Hall alone. He considers walking away from where he can see Draco and Pansy sitting but thinks better of it. Right now, he needs the protection that their presence will grant. Potter knows that many of the students must be mocking him right now. He doesn't know how the story got around so fast or even what, exactly, people think that they know, but it's not like it really matters. Daphne, at least, is probably having a good laugh at his expense.

Ignoring Draco, Potter lays his head down on the table and decides to revive his earlier plan to sleep. He's not hungry. Petal, at least, should be happy. Hell, maybe she should be friends with Daphne. Potter's sure that they'd have loads in common, especially now that he knows that both of them have…

The feast is over. Potter prepares for bed in silence. He doesn’t undress or change into night clothes, and no one asks him too. He doesn't brush his teeth, either. Somehow, he can't stand to have anything near his mouth.

He's not surprised when morning comes and he hasn't gotten a moment's worth of sleep. But then, his nightmares don't require his eyes to be closed.


	54. Chapter 54

Potter would be amused by how little things have changed over the summer if it wasn't so frustrating that he almost wants to scream. Already, he's tired of the summer gossip, of the secret and not-so-secret glances in his direction, of the teachers subtly examining him for signs of further abuse. If he could, Potter would tell all of them to take their pseudo concern and shove it. Instead, he's reduced to silence, to fake smiles and the insistence that why yes, his summer was lovely, and yours? It sickens him. Despite having skipped dinner, he can't bring himself to touch breakfast. Blaise looks a bit worried, but he says nothing. Draco, of course, is too busy gossiping to notice.

Potter plans to leave breakfast early under the excuse of needing to find his first class so as not to be late, but before he can exit the Great Hall, he hears a familiar voice calling his name, and a hand grips the back of his elbow before abruptly releasing its grasp.

"Sorry," the voice says. "I forgot that you don't like to be touched."

"It's alright, Hermione," Potter says, forcing himself to smile as he turns to meet her. "Why aren't you eating?"

Hermione makes a face. "I don't know how anyone can stand to eat right now. There are so many more important things to be worried about… oh! Can I see your schedule?" She fishes her own out of her bag and holds it to Potter's to compare. "Oh, good! We have lots of classes in common! I guess because we're third years, and all, and we can choose some of our classes now. Or maybe they're still sticking the Slytherins and Gryffindors together whenever they can? That's never made much sense to me…"

"Hermione," Potter interrupts, "I think they messed up your schedule. Look. They've got you scheduled for Divination, Arithmancy, and Muggle Studies all at nine o'clock. You better get it fixed."

Hermione flushes and won't meet Potter's eyes. "It's fine. I got it sorted out with McGonagall."

"But how will you have enough time to take all of these classes?"

Hermione doesn't answer, so Potter tries a different tactic.

"How will you have enough time to do all of this _homework?_ "

"Oh! No, that won't be a problem. All of the classes looked so fascinating! I'm sure that I won't mind doing a little extra work for them."

"You're insane," Potter informs her, and Hermione's grin widens.

"Would you like to walk to Divination with me?"

Potter agrees, and they set off. Neither of them is quite sure where the North Tower is, and even once they find it, it takes them forever to actually climb the massive staircase and get settled. Due to their headstart, they are on time, but it isn't long before Potter begins to wonder if their effort was even worth it. The teacher, to put it plainly, is a nutjob. Hermione must agree because she spends most of the class huffing under her breath about what a load of rubbish Divination is. When she sees how subjective tea reading is, she's not impressed. She's even less impressed by Professor Trelawney's attempts to paint Potter's future as one of pain and death.

"Honestly, it's just a bunch of tea dredges! How is that supposed to mean anything? And really, that looked nothing like a dog to me. A _donkey_ , maybe, but not a dog. And what was she trying to do, saying that you have a deadly enemy? Everyone knows that! It's useless, all of it. No aura, no receptivity to the 'resonances of the future,' what is that even supposed to mean, really! It's all such a load of… don't listen to her, Potter."

Potter just nods, allowing Hermione to fume on her own. He's already decided not to point out that he doesn't need any convincing that Trelawney is full of it. Beyond that, it probably wouldn't be wise to mention that frankly, he's not particularly worried even if his future _is_ tied up in danger and death. When is it not? He has better things to worry about than that.

His philosophy might be the exception rather than the rule. The supposed-to-be-subtle glances in his direction have increased exponentially since the Divination lesson even with McGonagall's earlier attempts to calm her students down. On the other hand, Potter's not sure that the other students really aren’t just taking advantage of a convenient excuse to watch him more carefully. After all, even now, people are far too excited about his reaction to the Dementors, and not everyone has so easily forgotten the events of last year. Besides, he's the Boy Who Lived. Every little thing that he does seems to be an invitation for more gawking. Potter's only conciliation is that such a small disturbance must be fated to die down quickly.

Somehow, he manages to maintain this hope until lunch, when Ron questions him just as earnestly, if not more so, than all the other students have been doing.

"Oh, give him a break, will you!" Hermione finally explodes, and Ron's mouth drops in surprise.

"But a _Grim_ , Hermione! You don't understand how—"

"I don't care to," Hermione says shortly. "The whole thing is ridiculous, if you ask me."

"It's not ridiculous! My uncle Bilius saw one, and—and he died twenty-four hours later! Grims scare the living daylight out of most wizards!"

"There you are, then. It's just the placebo effect. People see the Grim, and they die of fright, and that only feeds the fear that other wizards experience when they see it. I'm sure that Potter will be fine since I can't imagine that he would be stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I'd better kick the bucket then!"

Ron's face turns bright red, and he blurts, "Professor Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura! You just don't like being bad at something for a change!"

Hermione slams her Arithmancy book down onto the table, looking like she'd prefer to slam it down onto Ron's head. "If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in lumps of tea, I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!" Then, without missing a beat, she snatches up her bag and walks away.

Ron frowns after her. "What's she talking about? She hasn't been to an Arithmancy class yet."

"She's not always the best at wording things… Look, Ron, I'm going to go make sure that she's alright."

Ron shrugs as if to say, _suit yourself_ , and Potter abandons the Gryffindors to follow Hermione to the library. He has to admit, he rather enjoys the freedom that comes with being a house drifter, and it's nice to know that by now, even those who view him as Voldemort V.2 won't think twice of him wanting to spend some time alone with his friend. The thought cheers him immensely, and he decides to not even mention Divination to Hermione. She already knows that he agrees with her, and there's no point rehashing things. Instead, once he's determined that she really is alright, he asks her a bit more about her summer. Soon, the two are chatting away, catching up on lost time, as if nothing unusual ever happened to either of them.

The practicality of morphing spells is the topic of their heated discussion when Blaise suddenly rounds one of the bookshelves, nearly walking into the table where they're sitting.

"There you are, Potter, I—!... oh, hello Gra-Hermione. My apologies. I didn't notice you there."

Hermione falls silent and nods tersely in Blaise's direction, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Hello, Blaise," Potter says after throwing a quick glance Hermione's way to assess how she's taking this. "Did you need something from me?"

Blaise shrugs. "Lunch is rather boring without you. Draco seems to think that we're friends because of our mutual friendship with you, and I got tired of his prattling."

"Sorry to hear that." Potter doesn't bother to hide his smirk, and Blaise smirks back, depositing his bag into one chair and settling casually onto another.

"So, how've you been? We haven't really had the chance to talk much lately—not about anything worthwhile, at least. I hear that you caused a real panic over the summer?"

Potter's glare only earns him a wider smirk, so he decides to just drop the issue. "Someone's always got _some_ reason to gossip about me. I would have thought you above such things."

"Oh, hush it, Potter… by the way, how are the others doing? I haven't heard from Lily yet."

"Well, the year has just begun. I suppose she could have helped with Transfiguration today, but there wasn't anything for her to do, really. I'm sure that she'll front more later on."

Blaise nods, accepting this answer, and Potter glances again at Hermione. Hermione doesn't meet his eyes; she's very absorbed with pulling at a loose fiber at the bottom of her robe. Potter considers trying to prod her to talk more, but it strikes him suddenly that he can't remember the last time that he's heard her talk to someone other than him, a Weasley, or one of their teachers.

When Potter looks back up, he sees Blaise looking up, as well, and realizes that the Slytherin boy must have noticed how uncomfortable Hermione is. To his credit, he doesn't comment on it, choosing instead to invite both of them to walk down to Hagrid's hut with him. Hagrid is the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, and Blaise jokes that maybe if he's seen with two of Hagrid's student friends, he won't have any wild beasts sicked on him.

Despite leaving the library before lunch had officially ended, Blaise and Potter walk slowly, enjoying the warm weather, and Hermione trails wordlessly behind them. By the time that they reach Hagrid's hut, both Ron and Draco (and his goons) are already waiting there. For a moment, Potter's afraid that one or the other boy will put up a fuss, but the moment passes, and Blaise and Potter chat for another few minutes until Hagrid makes his appearance.

If the giant notices anything odd about Blaise having replaced Ron, he doesn't comment, though he does make an awfully strange face. Then his face brightens, and love for his position steals his attention away from teenage friendship drama. Without any further delay, he leads the class down to an empty paddock by the Forbidden Forest and, after telling everyone to—and _how_ to—open their books, he trots away to retrieve the day's lesson. When he returns, it's with the strangest creatures that Potter's seen in his entire life. They seem to be half lion and half eagle, and they're massive.

"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid proudly explains, and Potter spares a moment to wonder where on earth Hagrid manages to find these creatures. All thoughts of the creatures' origin, however, leave Potter's mind as Hagrid explains how volatile and easily offended they are right before asking who would like to engage with one.

The silence stretches to a painful degree before Potter hears a snort from inside.

_Oh, don't you da-_

"I'll do it," James volunteers.

Hagrid is lucky that he can't hear inside of Harry's head; Potter's cursing would wipe that huge smile from his face in seconds. Instead, Hagrid is practically bouncing with excitement as he leads James over to the enclosure.

"This one's Buckbeak," Hagrid all but roars.

James nods to the hippogriff as if to say 'How do you do' before remembering Hagrid's lesson and bowing as deeply as he can without breaking eye contact. To his delight, Buckbeak responds in kind. With Hagrid's permission, James walks up and pets the hippogriffs beak before climbing onto its back for a ride.

 _Oh, no!_ Potter moans. _No, no, no._

_Relax. It likes us, see? What could go wrong?_

_So many—no, no, stop, maybe we can still get off—Jaaaameeees!_

And with a giant leap, the hippogriff is airborne. James can't contain a giant "Whoop!" as he feels the creature's wings spread beneath them. The ride is bumpier than he would prefer, but still, what an amazing experience!

As soon as Buckbeak returns to the ground, Potter stumbles off and gets away from the beasts as quickly as he can.

_That was such a bad idea!_

_For god's sake, Potter, nothing happened. Quit whining._

_Nothing—! That doesn't matter! That doesn't even matter, it was a stupid idea, and you know it, and!_

_Just because you're a wuss about heights doesn't mean that I shouldn't be allowed to have any fun! For Merlin's sake, you already stole the entire summer from me, and now you want to take away flying, too!_

Potter pauses at the back of the class and stops, too shocked to point out that he has no intention of taking Quidditch away from James.

_What the hell are you talking about? James, I wasn't there any more than you were._

_What are you—if you weren't the one keeping me back, who was it?_

_I don't know._

James doesn't reply, and Potter can't think of anything else worth adding. He can't lie to James and make it out to be an innocent matter. No, he's just as disturbed as James is. Just who was using their body over the summer?

Before Potter can dwell on the issue, he's distracted by a high pitched scream.

"I'm dying! I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"Yer not dyin'!" Hagrid says to Draco, but the man's face has gone very white. Now Potter sees why. Draco's lying in the grass, a long, deep gash marring his arm. Before Potter can examine it more closely, Hagrid is blocking his view, muttering, "Gotta get him outta here…"

"We'll take him to the Hospital Wing, Hagrid," Potter finds himself saying. In response to the many eyes that swing in his direction, he protests, "Hagrid, you really need to be staying with the class and taking care of Buckbeak. We'll… I'll—"

"I'll go with him!" Hermione quickly intervenes.

Blaise sighs and follows her to where Draco lies. She looks back at him, and he raises an eyebrow in response. "You and Potter will need help managing his weight."

Draco makes an indignant protest at that, but Hagrid ignores him, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration.

"Well… I s'pose that'd be alright," he finally says.

Not giving Hagrid any time to change his mind, the three manage to get Draco off of the grass and support him without getting in each others' way. Leaving Ron behind to fend off accusations that Hagrid is a lunatic who deserves to lose his job for such a stunt, they make off across the Hogwarts grounds.

They've almost reached the castle when Potter finds himself abruptly stopping.

"Hang on!" Lily says, blushing slightly. She shrugs her way out from underneath Draco's arm and earnestly turns to face him.

"Please, _please_ don't make a fuss about this, okay? Hagrid made a mistake, but he doesn't deserve to be fired over it!"

Draco tries to glare at her, but it comes out more as a pout.

"I'm _injured_! You'll be sure that my father is going to hear about this!"

"But! It's not that bad of a wound, you see? And Madam Pomfrey, she's healed us before, she's really good… Look! I can heal it for you, alright? Partially, so that she'll think that it's just a scratch and that everyone in class was just making a big deal about nothing, but..."

Lily hears Blaise draw in a sharp breath beside her, but she keeps her eyes trained on Draco. He meets her gaze as long as he can before he falls back into Blaise's support with a loud groan.

"Fine. But you better not… you better not make it sound as if I was upset over a _scratch_. If you're going to lie about the wound, you better at least be honest and not accuse me of any cowardice, like I'm sure the Gryffindors will..."

Lily catches Blaise rolling his eyes, but she manages to keep her face serious.

"Thank you!" She almost hugs Draco before thinking better of it. "Erm. Right."

Trying not to mind the attention, she wraps her hands around Draco's wound and closes her eyes for a moment. Warmth races through her and out her finger tips, and she keeps her eyes tightly shut until she's sure that she's had the desired impact. When she opens her eyes again, she finds three open mouths gaping at her.

Blaise recovers first. "Good job, Lily… We should get going, now."

Relieved, Lily nods her agreement and helps Draco up the last few steps to the castle.

Before they can go inside, Hermione blurts, "Where did you learn to do that? You didn't even use a wand!"

Lily freezes. Blaise stiffens beside her and throws Hermione a look that's clearly meant to convey, _you can't just ask her that! You know what Harry's been through._ It must go over Hermione's head because she continues to wait for Lily's answer. Hermione opens her mouth to ask again, and Draco suddenly jerks away from all of them.

"I don't need anyone accompanying me inside!" He loudly protests. "You made my wound smaller. No need to do the same to my pride!"

"Oh, for Merlin's—! That was _awful_ ," Blaise gripes. Draco just shrugs. Lily wilts with relief.

As Draco disappears inside, Blaise frowns. "I should go read, I suppose. There's no reason to hang around now."

"Oh! I suppose I'll go study, then…" Hermione suddenly turns red as if only now realizing that she spoke in front of a near stranger. Mumbling something under her breath, she darts off towards the library. With a sigh, Blaise follows her, veering off towards the dungeons as soon as he can. Lily watches them for a minute. She really doesn't want to follow either of them, but…

Best not to give herself too much to think. Lily follows Blaise to the dungeons. She'll let Potter handle everything tomorrow.


	55. Chapter 55

If this is going to become a tradition, Harry thinks that it must be the worst tradition that he's ever come across. He supposes that he could be grateful that Dumbledore gave them a day of classes to themselves, but who is he kidding? He'd rather never see the bastard again, let alone step foot into his office after having managed to convince himself that the headmaster would finally leave them alone for a year. What excuse does Dumbledore even have for this meeting? Unless it's about their disappearance over the summer, there's nothing that needs to be said, and even that has already been discussed to death with the Minister of Magic. No, Dumbledore must just want to prattle on about something useless and irritating. But then, Harry feels that that applies to everything that comes out of the man's mouth.

"Ah, my boy! What a delight to see you well—" Dumbledore begins, and Harry could puke. Perhaps he doesn't hide this well because Dumbledore stops mid speech and sighs.

"You realize that we have many things to discuss?"

"Not really."

Dumbledore just looks at Harry, but Harry stares evenly back, refusing to rise to the bait. He has the power here no matter what power Dumbledore thinks he has over them. After all, Dumbledore doesn't even know who sits before him now, and he couldn't begin to guess the things that Harry's seen over the past year alone. For that matter, he did nothing to protect Harry from any of the dangers of the past year, and Harry owes him nothing.

Finally, Dumbledore sighs again. "Why did you run away from the Dursleys?"

Harry's fists clench and his breath quickens; "I think that you already know the answer to that, sir."

Dumbledore frowns. "Surely you understand that your uncle's house is the safest place for you right now—"

Harry laughs before he can help himself, and he's on his feet and at the door before he's aware of having even moved. This slow comprehension continues when he turns the doorknob and it fails to click, but then his mind catches up to his body, and his blood runs cold.

"You've locked the door."

"Young men, I've noticed, can be very rash. Sit down, my boy. We still have much to discuss."

"I have nothing to discuss with you," Harry insists. His head is beginning to pound, and he has to close his eyes to escape the sickening lurch of the world. Inside, some tiny voice is chanting one word again and again. _No. No. No. No._ Harry's mouth opens slightly, and he hopes that Dumbledore didn't hear him gag. His mouth tastes acrid, and there's a pressure in his jaw that wasn't there before. His body remembers what his mind cannot, and it terrifies him. It _terrifies_ him. Oh god, don't leave him locked in a room with an older man…

 _Harry?_ A voice inside asks in alarm, but Harry can't respond. He can hear Dumbledore getting up and moving to stand behind him, and he's frozen inside and out.

_No. No. No. No._

Dumbledore reaches out an arm, and…

Dumbledore jerks back as magic, strange but oh so familiar, crashes into his own as if preparing to attack. Eyes, alien but somehow so very familiar, stare at him with a revulsion that borders on loathing.

"Don't touch him," a voice warns, and Harry Potter slips through the now open door and disappears. Dumbledore remains in place, mind slowly turning. A thought nags at him, but he forces it away. No. It can't be…

And it can't. Yet, when Dumbledore returns to his desk, it's with a heavy heart and sorrow filled determination. Whether his ill-formed assumptions are correct or the product of too many years spent fretting over exactly this, he knows that he can't allow this incident to slip from his memory as have so many other incidences before they lead to their inevitable conclusions. No. For once, Dumbledore won't stand back and allow fate to decide for him.

Something must be done about Harry Potter. The only question is what.

XXXXX

_I almost thought that you'd left us._

_Oh?_

_Well, you hadn't spoken to me since I woke up. I assumed that you must have grown tired of whoever was out during the summer and didn't want to talk with us anymore._

Tom's lips twitch slightly, though his eyes remain without humor.

_Harry, you really have no idea who was out during the summer, do you?_

_How could I?_

_Fair point_ , Tom acknowledges with a slight nod. Then he does laugh, and, false as the mirth might be, it seems to calm Harry a bit.

_I couldn't have grown tired of him. He was one of my alters to begin with._

_What!_

Harry's shock is almost comical, and Tom would regret how his anger is blotting out everything else if such thoughts would be remotely productive. Instead, trying to keep his voice moderately friendly, he says, _Marvolo. He's our protector, and I thought that he would best handle the shock without causing you to split yet again or to try and section off your memories to someone else inside. You had to get away from the Dursleys, but I admit that I didn't trust any of you to do so without later trying to return. It was the only option that we had._

Harry seems stunned. Then he nods as if coming to his senses.

_Well, thank him for that, will you? You're right, I—I don't think that any of us could have handled that._

Harry swallows heavily, remembering how little he himself likes to acknowledge what "that" even refers to. Thankfully, Tom chooses not to comment. Instead, he glances through a window and frowns.

_I think that Potions has ended. You should get to your next class. You're going to be late._

Harry shakes himself, trying to clear the fog from his head. _Right. Er, right._ He only pauses a moment longer before heading for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Tom settles back to watch him carefully.

Lupin isn't yet present when Harry arrives, and Harry settles down near the back of the room where he knows that Draco and Blaise will join him. This is one class that Slytherins have alone, so there's no reason for him to worry about finding a way to accommodate both sets of friends. For once, everything should be uncomplicated.

He's almost stunned into audible laughter when the seat to his left is quickly occupied by Flora Crow.

"How was your summer?" she asks, but Harry can only gape in response. She smirks, and Harry closes his mouth, suddenly painfully aware that he must look like a goldfish. She snickers.

"That good, huh? But you're real glad to be back _here_ , though! Missed me?"

She accompanies these last words with a kick to the leg of his chair, and Harry thinks better of pointing out that he'd forgotten her existence. Thankfully, Draco's arrival saves him from coming up with a more appropriate response.

"What is she doing here?"

Flora rolls her eyes dramatically. "Nice to see you too, kid."

Harry wonders what happened between them when Draco only glares in response, but then both Harry and Flora are trying not to laugh as Blaise slides smoothly into the seat Draco was standing beside, leaving Draco to reluctantly occupy the seat in front of Harry. Harry can hear Malfoy muttering something about his father under his breath, but Harry ignores it, more than used to his friend's strange habit of frequently invoking his family name.

Draco's calmed slightly by the time that Lupin enters, and Harry doesn't feel that he'd be missing anything to ignore the strange threesome around him in order to pay more attention to the professor from the Hogwarts Express. He's already decided that the professor won't be of much use to him—since when are DADA professors ever of any use to _anyone?_ —but he feels that he should at least try to suspend his misgivings for this one class. After that, well. At least Lupin doesn't seem to be another Lockhart. For one thing, his lessons might be a bit more practical.

Abandoning his bags and books, Harry follows the rest of his class two corridors away to the staffroom and watches curiously as Lupin approaches a locked wardrobe. His curiosity only intensifies as Lupin explains what's inside, though the curiosity is matched by a sense of dread. He's not sure what shape the boggart would take to best scare him, but he has the feeling that he wouldn't be able to make anything humorous out of it. Besides, does he really want anyone knowing what he fears?

Maybe he can spell it before it has a chance to assume a form to begin with. Harry's sure that he can master the technical part of the spell, but he's far less confident about his ability to summon laughter and genuine joy. Briefly, he wonders if shoving Harrison out and bluffing away the boggart as some kind of wizard castle guardian would do any good. Or could one alter do the laughing at another alter's fear?

In his distraction, Harry's a bit slow in lining up, and he can't help the small sense of relief that he's near the back. He's sure that the line won't move quickly enough for his plans to matter. Perhaps Hermione can help him come up with a better plan in case the activity is repeated tomorrow.

But then the line _is_ moving quickly, and though the boggart is becoming increasingly confused, Harry still doesn't want to face it. By the time that he's next in line, he's no more confident than he was at the beginning of the class. Despite having seen so many kids successfully cast the Riddikulus spell, if anything, he's more worried than before. After all, none of the fears so far have taken a form worth writing home about. Mummies? Banshees? Evil clowns? How could children with such ordinary fears ever understand if the boggart chose for him Uncle Vernon or even Lockhart? His classmates haven't turned on him yet this year, but he knows from experience that all that it takes is one odd event involving him before they'll single him out as something different, something to be hated. And now he's at the front of the line and…

Lupin recalls the boggart with a wave of his wand, and he transforms the silvery orb into a balloon before sending it back into the wardrobe for the Gryffindors to practice on next period.

"Excellent!" Lupin cries as the class bursts into applause. "Well done, everyone… let me see… five points to Slytherin for every person to tackle the boggart… and five to Malfoy for answering my questions at the beginning of class."

Everyone who earned points is beaming or smirking, and the students are generally cheerful as they go to retrieve their books before heading for Transfiguration. Harry doesn't share their enthusiasm. He knows that he's being unreasonable, but he's almost annoyed that Lupin didn't even give him a chance with the boggart. Did last year's professors already warn him about what Harry's been through, or did seeing Harry's reaction to the Dementors on the train lead him to decide that Harry is naturally weak and unfit for such class activities?

Harry tries to put it out of his mind, but he can't. Even Charms with the Hufflepuffs can't provide enough of a distraction. Having just begun, classes aren't really intense enough to require any of his alters to switch out, and, alone, Harry can't seem to force his mind away from the boggart. After all, wouldn't it be better for him to know his biggest fear? Shouldn't he know what weakness he needs to overcome?

By the time that dinner rolls around, Harry's about ready to scream with frustration. Of course Ron and Hermione are both discussing the boggart—talking about Neville's fear of Snape, apparently, and making guesses as to what Hermione might have seen—and the Slytherins are no better, refusing to shut up about Lupin and his fantastic class but pitiful clothing for more than a minute. When someone wonders aloud what Harry's boggart would have been, Harry's had enough. He has to see what his greatest fear is. He has to know.

That night, exhausted by the start of the new school year, Harry's classmates fall asleep quickly. When they do, the invisibility cloak is waiting for Harry at the bottom of his chest, and he silently slips it on before slipping out of the Slytherin Common Room and into the dungeons. Hogwarts is almost a maze with its twisting, shifting hallways, but Harry's sure that it won't take him too long to locate the wardrobe again. He only has to hope that Lupin hasn't already set the boggart free.

It takes him longer than he thought to reach his destination, but, just as before, the boggart is thumping away inside the wardrobe. For just a moment, Harry wonders if what he's doing is really wise. Then, wand at the ready, he unlocks the wardrobe and steps back.

What the wardrobe produce is himself.

For a moment, Harry and his doppelganger can only stare at each other in shock. Suddenly, the doppelganger is throwing itself forwards, mouth open in a viscous scream. Almost dropping his wand, Harry casts a Silencing Charm around the room, fully expected the next scream to be his own. Something stops the doppelganger, however, and Harry notices the chains that restrain it. The doppelganger notices them at the same moment and throws itself forward again with greater force than before, pure hatred on its face. Harry's reminded of the screaming face of Sirius Black, the mad murderer that killed his parents so many years before. As if reading his thoughts, the doppelganger smiles widely, baring its teeth. It spits, and the spittle lands on Harry's bare foot; he hadn't thought to bring shoes. Harry barely notices. He's eyes are drawn to the details of the scene before him: the blood that soaks through the doppelganger's pants; the cuts and bruises that line its chest; the harsh glint in its eye; the malice that he can feel radiating off it.

Harry's on the ground without knowing how he got there, but he can't stop staring. This seems to please the doppelganger.

" _Freak,"_ it snarls. " _Worthless freak. Vile, violent, freak._ " The voice is Harry's but not. It reminds him of Vernon, but it's his own vocal chords producing such a harsh growl. The hair on the back of his neck prickles. The creatures continues.

" _I killed them, you know. Each and every one of them. Dudley. Petunia. The Vermin. The Coward. Nitin, as well—someone had to take the fall for my crimes. It's really too bad not everyone believed it. I wonder who's next_?"

"Shut up," Harry croaks.

The thing sneers at him. " _You'd've done the same._ Freak."

It's too much. Harry's gone.

XXXXX

Tom watches the creature changing and wonders why it doesn't just transform like it does when one student takes the place of another. Then it's done, and his idle thoughts fall away. For a moment, he's able to appreciate the irony of the situation. Then that, too, is gone.

He's looking at himself, but it's not him and never will be. This man is older, much more similar to Riddle than to Tom. He's dressed formally, in a business suit. His face is blank, no trace of emotion nor humanity to be found. The name plate on his breast labels him "Tom Marvolo Riddle," but Tom knows that this isn't himself. No. This man is meant to reflect his father.

Tom casts it away. His wand shakes slightly, but the spell aims true, and he's able to ignore it. There are footsteps outside, and Tom slips on the Invisibility Cloak and slips past the professor—Lupin, he recognizes—without another thought. He takes the body to bed and retreats inside.

Some things, perhaps, should be left unknown.


	56. Chapter 56

It's no surprise that such an introduction to Defense Against the Dark Arts leads the system to view the class in a not-exactly-positive manner. However, it quickly becomes a class that they yearn for if only to escape the horrors of the rest of their day. Divination is a nightmare. Care of Magical Creatures is a drag. History of Magic couldn't be more dull if it tried. Perhaps Herbology or Charms could be interesting, but Lily is increasingly distant, and she seems unable to cope with intrusions that might remind her of the memories that the system struggles to avoid. As for Potions, the system would be grateful if they never had to see Professor Snape again. It matters little that the professor is more ruthless than ever to his other students. What bothers the system is how Snape has grown increasingly thin and pale; how his hands shake when he prepares potions; how his eyes never so much as drift in their direction. It unnerves them on a level that they can neither explain nor escape. They feel responsible, and it sickens them to imagine that they're such a potently toxic force. They've taken to avoiding Snape as he avoids them. Even Jay refuses to draw attention to herself, afraid of what the absence of Snape's attention might suggest to the other students.

They're withdrawing, and no one notices. Draco is distracted by correspondences with home and his increasing need to prove his worth to the judgmental eyes of surrounding students. Ron and Hermione are never there to see how silent Potter is when not in class. Blaise is distracted by his struggle to pass Astronomy. No one else cares. And why should they? He's Harry Blood Potter. He's a golden boy who's never suffered a day in his life or a monstrous freak who deserves what comes to him. He's no one and nothing, and he believes it. It was a mistake to ever imagine that things would improve.

Life falls into a familiar monotony until September bleeds into October and Halloween looms. Potter can't help but wonder what will happen this year to make him wish for the return of trolls and Basilisks. At least most of the school will be away at Hogsmeade; he won't have to worry about anyone else getting hurt, this time. His friends did try to convince him to join them, but he politely refused. Hermione tried to explain to Ron that Potter's smart to stay where Sirius Black can't get to him, but in truth, Potter just doesn't feel like doing anything social when he could just as easily spend the day in his empty dorm room. Besides, he has no permission from home, and it's not as if he could appeal to Dumbledore or Snape about the matter. There's no point sulking about it.

But then the day comes, everyone leaves, and Potter finds that he's too restless to remain in bed. He tries to work, he really does, but something's keeping him from concentrating, and it's no use. Having no reason to remain in the Common Room with the lower classmen, Potter abandons the dungeons entirely and takes to wandering the castle. Everything is eerily quiet, as if Hogwarts itself is holding its breath and waiting for tragedy to strike. Potter finds himself listening for the sound of approaching footsteps even as he avoids the areas that he knows are most likely to house other students.

Finally, before boredom can overwhelm self-pity and force Potter to seek out company, he hears someone coming around the corner up ahead. For just a moment, he thinks that he might be met by a friendly face. Then he recognizes the girl in front of him and almost laughs. The look in her eyes, however, kills any ironic amusement that might have otherwise grown.

"Are you alright?" Potter finds himself asking, but Daphne ignores him. She looks straight ahead as she walks, teeth gritted in defiance. Despite the warmth of the enclosed halls, she wears heavy sleeves that drape down to her palms. Her eyes seemed sunken into her skull, but the usual malice in them has been replaced by bitterness sharp enough to make Potter wince. On her neck resides a large, dark bruise. It's shaped like a hand.

Potter opens his mouth, intent on finding words that can somehow help her, but his mind remains blank. She pauses for a moment, eyeing him, before she passes him. Potter can't force himself to turn and watch her leave. Head suddenly aching, he finds a quiet place to sit and rests his head in his arms. For once, he's not upset. Instead, he's overcome by anger. To his surprise, it's not directed at Daphne, not even at the man or woman who caused her current state. It's at Dumbledore. It's at Snape. It's at all of the professors now and all of the professors of the past that saw the signs and turned away. It's at the social workers who stopped by when he was eight and deadly thin but who left due to lack of evidence that he wasn't simply ill. It's at the peers that saw that he was struggling but capitalized on his weakness, turning him into an easy target for their own repressed frustrations. It's at himself for not being able to do anything to improve his own condition, let alone help others who are suffering as he does. It's at everything and everyone, and the pointlessness of it does make Potter laugh.

For a moment, his thoughts come to rest on his parents, and he wonders how different life would have been had they never died twelve years before tonight. Then it hits him that they, too, would have hated him. It's something intrinsically _him_ that allows him to be so badly abused. It must be. The only other option is that the entire fucking world has gone mad, and Potter's not quite ready to face that, yet. After all, if this is the world that's left, then is Tom really that wrong in wanting to destroy it? And what does that say about him?

It's too much, and Potter forces himself back to his feet so that he can resume wandering. There's no reason to dwell on such things. Really, there's no reason to dwell on anything negative at all. He's doing fine in school. Currently absent or not, the friends that he has care about him a great deal. Most of the mysteries of his past seem to be solved, so there should be no new horrors to uncover. Everything is just fine. All that Potter needs to do is realize that, accept it, and get over himself.

When his classmates return from Hogsmeade, Potter tries his best to do just that. He goes to greet Ron and Hermione and listens to Ron extol the virtues of Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks, and Zonko's Joke Shop while Hermione excitedly tries to explain to him how wonderful the post office and bookstore are. He accepts their candies and Draco's trinkets and let's Blaise fret about lost time that he would have spent studying if he had more self control. During the feat, he forces himself to smile and pretends that his food doesn't taste like paste. By the time that it's all over and he can return to his dorm, he's exhausted. When he realizes that his entrance to the Slytherin Common Room is blocked by a throng of people, he's almost frustrated enough to scream.

Then a hush falls over the crowd, and before Potter knows it, someone's gone to get Dumbledore.

"What's going on?" he asks Draco, but the boy just shakes his head in confused irritation.

"I can't see anything!" Draco complains, adding "this better not be someone's idea of a Halloween prank."

Potter doesn't think that it is. His suspicion is confirmed when Dumbledore arrives and works his way to the Common Room entrance, face grave.

"Did anyone see what happened here?" The Headmaster asks, just loud enough for his words to carry. Silence is the only reply.  It's not until he's joined by Snape that Potter gets an answer to his question.

"Send the students to the Great Hall," Snape says grimly. "It seems that Sirius Black has been sighted."

Potter stares at the professor in shock. That can't be related. Can it? Everyone knows that Hogwarts is secure, and what of the Dementors? What could this possibly have to do with the dorm being blocked?

"I see," Dumbledore answers. "Yes, alright. Students, if you'll please…"

Potter starts to follow, but Dumbledore gestures for him to remain in place. With a sigh, Potter makes his way to the wall and waits. Once enough of his classmates have left, he can see the deep gashes on the wall that prevented anyone from entering the Common Room, and his stomach turns to lead. Dumbledore seems to notice his unease. When he speaks, the sympathy in his voice almost passes as genuine. Almost.

"Potter. I assume that you know how Sirius Black concerns you?"

Potter doesn't bother to deny it. "How is this possible, sir?"

"I don't know, my boy, but I can ensure you that it will not happen again… the teachers and I will conduct a thorough search of the castle while the prefects guard the other students. However, I'm afraid that we can't leave you with them. You must understand that as Black's target, you would only bring danger to friends who could not adequately protect you. Until we are certain that Black is no longer within castle grounds, for your own safety, you'll be left with Snape somewhere that we can trust you will be safely hidden."

Snape tenses slightly, and Potter almost expects him to protest, but as he leads Potter away, his face is determined. Still, he doesn't speak until he and Potter are somewhere deep within the dungeons, and even then, Potter is the one to begin.

"Professor… how did Black get in?"

"You heard Dumbledore."

Potter stops short. "Dumbledore is a liar."

The expressed truth surprises both of them. Snape stops a few paces ahead of Potter, expression unreadable. Finally, he whispers, as if afraid of what his words could indicate, "I told him not to allow in… It doesn't matter, Potter. Even with Dumbledore's… you'll be safe here, Potter. I promise."

"I never have been before," Potter retorts, but his heart isn't in it, and Snape doesn't respond again. After a long pause, Snape resumes walking, and Potter follows him to a small bunk where it seems he'll be forced to spend the night. To his relief, Snape seems willing to wait awake by the door until morning. There may be two beds, but Potter's skin crawls at the idea of lying anywhere close to an older man.

Still, it's a surprise that, after lying down, Potter realizes that he really is tired enough to sleep in Snape's presence. He tries to resist, at first, but eventually gives in and allows his eyes to close. After all, what could be the harm in ensuring that he's well rested? He's sure that he'll need his strength if Black isn't found and apprehended soon.

Within minutes, he's asleep.

XXXXX

 _He's asleep, or at least he thinks that he is, when the flashes start. He's in the center of a ring of people, all masked. They're talking, though he can't make out the words. At the back of his mind is terror, but at the front is only disinterested calm. He's waiting for something—no, for some_ one _—to arrive. There's a thick dark mist crawling at his feet, and as it grows heavier, his scar begins to burn. His eyes are forced shut by the pain at the same time that a loud snap resounds. He can feel a magic both foreign and horribly familiar, but then he can feel nothing at all. Somehow, he knows that this doesn't matter. His presence isn't needed for what will come next._


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for memories of abuse; more specific warning before flashback

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cries, quickly scrambling up to meet him and knocking over her chair in her haste. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, thanks," Potter answers. At her suspicious look, he adds, "Really, Hermione. Dumbledore made sure of it."

"What happened?" Ron asks, keeping his voice quieter than Hermione did, likely to avoid further aggravating Madam Pince.

Potter shrugs uncomfortably. "The entrance to the Slytherin dorm was slashed, someone got Dumbledore, and he said that Black had been sighted. He sent everyone else to the Great Hall to sleep… well, I guess you knew that part—and then he sent me down to a bunker with Snape…"

"He made you sleep with Snape?" Ron sounds so horrified that Potter's almost not annoyed by his interruption. Hermione, however, glares at him before turning back to Potter.

"But how could Black have gotten in?"

"I don't know. No one would tell me. Honestly, I'm not sure that they knew themselves, though Snape seemed to think that another teacher must have let him in."

"Yeah, he would think that!" Ron huffs. Hermione glares again, shushing him. He glares back in return, and Potter wonders if something has happened between them that he's missed. Deciding it doesn't really matter, he continues.

"That's not the really odd part, though. I need to tell this to Blaise and Draco, maybe they'll have a better idea what it—oh, stop it, Ron, they're my friends—anyway. I had a really weird dream last night, and I'm not sure what it means."

There isn't much that Potter can actually say about his dream, but Ron and Hermione still listen closely. Hermione looks a bit doubtful, but Ron's face is grim.

"Be careful, Ha—er, Potter. That doesn't sound like just a dream—"

Hermione snorts. "Of course you should be careful, Potter, but I'm sure that your dream isn't one of the reasons why—"

"I'll look in our Divination books and see if I can find anything that will help you—"

"Certainly not worth reading through that hogwash—"

"Not worth risking your life over just because _some people_ —"

"Really it's just a load of—"

"She doesn't even care about people's pets!"

"Yes I do!"

Ron and Hermione glare at each while Potter stares at them both, open mouthed in shock.

"Um… what?" He finally manages to ask.

Hermione shakes her head in annoyance. "Forget it. It's nothing." She forces a smile back on her face, and Ron snorts.

"Yeah, Potter, it's nothing. Just like everything else is to her."

When Hermione opens her mouth to protest, Ron holds up his arms in surrender and makes a face at her.

"I've gotta go, Potter. See you tomorrow?"

"Uh, sure, I guess?"

Potter watches in confusion as Ron leaves before turning to Hermione to ask what just happened. When she shakes her head, however, he decides to stay silent and let them work it out for themselves.

"So. How have you all been doing?"

"Pretty good," Potter says, deciding it's close enough to true. "I haven't been hearing much from the others lately, though."

"I was wondering about that!" Hermione frets. "Do you know why?"

"It happens sometimes. I guess it's because it's not really to our advantage to switch much here. We just need to blend in, you know? I think James will definitely be coming out for the Quidditch match, though."

"Are you still allowed to play?" Hermione asks, shocked.

"I… think so? I hadn't thought to talk to Snape about it, but…"

"Potter!"

"Alright, alright, I'll ask. Merlin, Hermione…"

Mollified, Hermione allows him to change the subject. She does not, however, allow him to go back on his word. That's how, only a little while later and having had no time at all to prepare, Potter finds himself standing in the doorway of the Potions Master's room. At first, he hopes that Snape will notice him on his own, but the professor seems absorbed in whatever it is that he's doing, and it looks like his attention won't waver any time soon. With a sigh, Potter reaches up to knock on the open door, quietly calling, "Sir?"

Snape starts, almost dropping all of his ingredients into the cauldron at once, and Potter winces.

"Potter," Snape manages to choke, trying to recover. Shaking himself, he adds, "Well, don't just stand there. Come in!"

Slowly, Potter does as he was told. "It's about Quidditch. I was wondering if I was still allowed to play in the match this Saturday?"

"Absolutely not!" Snape growls in responses. Potter's mouth drops open in shock.

"But sir!"

In one fluid motion, Snape rises to his feet and whirls around, looking menacingly down at his student.

"Do you have no instinct for self preservation, Potter?"

"Sir! Wouldn't a Quidditch match be when I would be _safest_? I'll be surrounded by crowds, Dumbledore will be there, _you'll_ be there. If Black can even break into the castle, isn't it time that we stopped pretending that any one location is safer for me than another? Besides, I was fine all summer!"

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he knows that he's made a mistake. Snape goes deadly white.

"Only further proof…. That you have no idea what's best for you…"

"Oh!" Potter exclaims, trying but failing to keep the scorn from his voice, "I see! So you think I'd have been safer with the _Dursleys_! No wonder you think I can't be allowed to play, you have the most twisted idea of 'safe' that I've ever heard!"

"Get out!" Snape roars, and Potter's only too happy to comply. He makes it a few hallways away before he has to stop to quick a wall in frustration.

 _You really need to learn to control your temper_ , he hears in response.

 _Oh, you hush it. It's_ Snape _. How on earth am I supposed to pretend to like him, of all people?_

 _You don't have to like him_ , is Tom's mild answer. _You just have to avoid antagonizing him._

 _Alright, then. Fine._ You _make him let us play in the match!_

Tom just sighs. After spending a moment to straighten up their uniform and flatten their unruly hair, he turns around and walks slowly back to the dungeon.

"Sir?" he asks hesitantly, ignoring how Snape's body tenses at the sound of his voice—lower than Potter's, but distinctive, nonetheless. Tom arranges his face into one of appropriate remorse. "I wanted to apologize for my outburst. I understand that it was foolish of me to assume that just because I got lucky over the summer, that same luck would continue. As well, it was rather horrible of me to insinuate that you weren't trying your best to ensure my safety. However much it might frustrate me that danger continues to find me no matter how many precautions are taken on my behalf, I have no right to take that frustration out on others. I'm very sorry."

Snape slowly turns to again face him. His eyes seems almost sunken into his face as he slowly takes in every detail of the student before him. He gulps slightly before he whispers, "who are you?"

Tom knows that that's not a question that he's meant to answer. Having done what he could, he nods at the professor and takes his leave. The ball's in Snape's court now.

XXXXX

The next morning, at breakfast, the entire Great Hall falls silent as Snape approaches where Potter sits, scowl on his face.

"Practice is at 7 sharp," Snape snaps. "Do not be late."

XXXXX

XXXXX

 _You are such an idiot_ , Harry sighs, unsure whether to be weary or amused. James just grins cheekily back, practically dancing with excitement.

_Ah come on. You can't blame me for being excited to be out for once! Besides, what's the harm in a little rain?_

_A little rain!_ Harry exclaims in amazement. James just shrugs, choosing not to comment on the torrential downpours or the wind that's so strong that it almost knocks them over as they take their position on the field. Harry squints hopelessly into the dark air around them, wondering how they could hope to make out the snitch in this weather, but James is stubbornly optimistic. As the whistle blows, he's off. And if the wind pushes him slightly off course as he rises to circle the pitch, well, that's the fun of it, right?

James bites his lip to avoid releasing a loud whoop. He's a drenched cat and freezing to boot, but who cares? He can hardly see, though, and that's a pain. It's not even about the Snitch anymore; he can't make out the other players, and he was almost unseated by two different Bludgers. Something needs to change.

 _Hey Lily!_ He hisses inside. _Can you do anything about our glasses?_

Lily inches closer to front, trying desperately not to register how high up they are. It's easier than might be expected. With their poor vision and the wind screaming around them, they're almost insulated from the world below, isolated in the clouds. Lily casts a quick spell to repel water and then disappears, more unnerved than she cares to admit. James grins. He laughs to himself as the first strike of lightning illuminates the field. Good thing she missed that!

The game drags on. The lightning becomes more frequent, and James's fingers are beginning to grow numb with the cold. Despite his careful combing of the field, he hasn't yet caught sight of the telling flash of gold. He did see some kind of mutt at the edge of the field, once, but that's no help, so James ignores it. He's beginning to become frustrated when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Seeker for Gryffindor diving towards the field. With a panic, he realizes that they've found the Snitch, and all that he can do is to throw his weight forward and join the chase.

He barely registers the unnatural silence or the sudden chill against his skin. However, when he breaks through a layer of fog and sees what waits for him below, the creatures' shapes are unmistakable.

Time seems to slow as James's eyes flutter closed. Distantly, he's aware of what's happening and tries to fight to remain in the present, but he knows that he doesn't stand a chance. The memories overtake him, and he's gone.

XXXXX

**(Trigger warning for verbal and physical abuse and domestic violence)**

_Vernon roars. Petunia screeches. A vase hits the wall. Dudley is crying, and Boy crawls up beside him, offering a broken crayon and what little comfort he can. They don't know what's going on, but they know that something is very wrong, and they're scared. Boy's seen Vernon angry before, but he doesn't remember ever seeing that anger turned on his aunt. For her part, Petunia seems just as furious, her whole body quivering with loathing._

_"I should have known that you were cheating on me with that whore._ Working late _, as if you lazy bastard ever worked at all!"_

_"Listen here you stupid fucking – …"Vernon raises a hand to strike his wife, and Dudley screams, covering his ears with his hands. Boy moves closer to hug him, not understanding what his aunt and uncle are talking about but knowing that it must be bad. He wonders what will happen if this means that they're going to get rid of him like they said that they would for destroying their marriage. He wonders what that will mean for Dudley. Will they go to another aunt and uncle when this set of parents doesn't work out?_

_Vernon shoves Petunia, and she stumbles into the table and cries out. She grabs a book and wields it like a weapon, and he eyes her like a wild beast. His eyes drift slightly as if taking the situation in, and his gaze falls on Boy and his son. For a moment, he freezes, something evil churning behind his eyes. Then a triumphant smile lights up his face._

_"Get away from my son, boy!" Vernon lumbers past his wife and towards where the two children are huddled in the corner. He yanks Boy away from his cousin, throwing the toddler against the wall and glaring when a small sound of anguish breaks past the boy's lips. He turns to his son, and, for a moment, Boy is terrified. However, Vernon only crouches down to his son's level and demands to know that his son is alright. Dudley reaches out to his father, bawling, and Vernon scoops the boy into his arms and starts cooing at him. Petunia watches from her perch by the china hutch, disgust written on her face. Then her glance, too, falls to Boy, and as Vernon and Dudley leave the room, she stalks forward._

_"_ You _," Petunia hisses, face pasty and white. Boy doesn't like her expression at all. She looks mean, and he looks around in terror for a way to escape her stare. When her large hand roughly grasps his tiny shoulder and jerks him to face her, he knows that he's failed._

_"This is all your fault! If my good for nothing sister hadn't dumped you with us, Vernon wouldn't have to work so hard to put food on the table, and he wouldn't be so stressed all the time… and he wouldn't be able to meet any whores!"_

_Boy wants to ask what a whore is and why his uncle is fucking them, but he knows better than to speak. He's hoping that maybe his aunt will forget about him, but that doesn't work, either._

_"No response? You think you're so smart, do you! Think you're so much better than your uncle and I! Just like that father of yours. My sister, she thought she was so special, going to that school of hers. Thought she'd meet a nice man and settle down to have herself a family like mine, did she! Why she thought meddling with freaks like that_ James _of hers would ever be a good idea—I bet you're just like him, aren’t you! Like all men, aren't you. Hateful, ungrateful, just waiting to snatch up some poor, unsuspecting girl and ruin her life, aren't you. Aren't you!"_

_"Yes Aunt Petunia," Boy stutters, but it's the wrong answer. A scowl settles on her face as she abruptly releases him, allowing him to stumble and fall back into the wall. She watches him with cold eyes, and he knows that he has to be careful not to set her off again._

_"It's all your fault," she repeats under her breath, but now her mind seems to be elsewhere. With one last sneer, she leaves him, and Boy darts back to hide in his cupboard. Head spinning, he tries to make sense of what he was told. James. Who is James?_

_Somewhere inside, a small boy wonders the same. But that's alright. He'll learn._


	58. Chapter 58

No one ever likes Mondays, but Potter thinks that today, he has more reason than most to be miserable. For a moment, he almost thinks that Madam Pomfrey senses this as she hesitates before shooing him out of the Hospital Wing, smile more plastic than he’s ever seen from the medic, but then he realizes that no, she’s just awkward around him because he’s been abused. He considers scowling at her before she can quickly shut the door behind him, but he just doesn’t have the energy. It was bad enough having to deal with all of the various well-wishers who visited him while he was bedridden, but every step that he takes brings him closer to where the entire school will be sitting in waiting, and he’s just not ready.

For a moment, Potter wishes that he wasn’t the default fronter. He wishes that he could leave someone else, _anyone_ else, to deal with this. But inside is as quiet as death, and there’s a general sense of wrongness that leaves Potter shuddering. He recognizes this feeling. The system is on lockdown. If something were to happen now, they would switch instantly, and he wouldn’t even realize that they’d been triggered until it was over. As few alters are meant to be damaged as possible. As far as their brain is concerned, that damage is inevitable.

Potter’s trembling slightly as he reaches the Great Hall, and he hopes that it’s not noticeable. Perhaps it wouldn’t normally be, but as he walks towards his usual place among the Slytherins, he can feel dozens of eyes watching his every move. Some of the faces that he glimpses are smiling brightly; Gryffindor seems especially pleased that he lost Slytherin the match. Others are mockingly harsh, blaming him for what they perceive as an attention grabbing stunt. He wants to scream at him that he could have _died_ , but he bites his tongue, knowing that they’ve judged all of his other near deaths in the same manner. There’s nothing that can be done about it. Besides, even their judgment is easier to face than the glares of his housemates.

Potter’s own face is burning as he finally slips between Draco and Blaise. Blaise looks at him with something approaching pity.

“I assume you heard about the broom?” He offers, and Potter winces.

“Yes, I know that it was destroyed. Yes, I know that if I could get another one, Slytherin could technically still win the House Cup. No, at the moment, I really don’t care.”

Blaise nods as if he expected this. Lowering his voice, he murmurs, “Potter, I know that you won’t want to tell anyone what you saw with the Dementors, but you really should talk to someone about all of this.”

Potter can’t stop himself from snorting. “Talk to someone? Like who! It’s not as if Snape or Dumbledore would be any help.”

“If you thought Dumbledore would be able to help you, Potter, I’d worry that you hit your head harder than I’d thought. Surely there must be someone that you can trust?”

Immediately, Tom’s name comes to mind, but Potter finds himself hesitating. If Tom has been through similar, is it really Potter’s place to remind him of that? Besides, they’ve always handled things well enough in the past. They don’t really need to talk to anyone else about this. But Blaise expects an answer, so Potter gives a gesture that could be interpreted as a nod and turns back to his food. He can almost feel Blaise’s eyes narrowing but chooses to ignore it. He’s sure that Blaise will get over it.

And perhaps he would have if Draco hadn’t caught Potter sneaking a roll into his robe pocket after eating no more than half a piece of toast for breakfast. Even Potter’s not quite sure what’s doing, and it doesn’t exactly reassure anyone that he’s doing alright.

As breakfast ends and the crowd surrounds them as students rush to get to their classes, Blaise stops Potter for a moment to hiss into his ear, “You are telling us what’s wrong later.” Then an upper classman pushes between them, they’re separated, and Potter is able to make his escape. He’s grimacing as he enters Potions and slips into a desk next to Flora. He’ll need to think of a good excuse for later, then.

To his relief, Flora must sense his discontent because for once, she remains relatively tactful.

“Nice to see you again,” she says, adding, “Aw, cheer up. Quidditch is just a stupid sport, anyway. I’m just glad you’re okay, Harry. Maybe you should take up a less dangerous hobby. Perhaps underwater basket weaving?”

Potter isn’t quite sure what she’s talking about, but as she doesn’t bring it again for the rest of the class, he decides that he doesn’t care. He sits by her again in Defense Against the Dark Arts and is beginning to hope that today might turn out alright after all when, right as class ends, Lupin asks him to stay after for a moment.

“Good luck,” Flora mouths at him before following the other students out the door. Potter watches her leave before reluctantly walking to the front of the room and stopping to wait by Lupin’s desk.

“Sir?”

“Don’t worry, Harry, you’re not in trouble,” Lupin assures him, mouth twitching from the strain of a not-quite-sincere smile. Potter’s perversely glad to see that at least he’s not the only one who’s nervous about the directions that this talk might take.

“So, ah,” Lupin begins, pausing to wet his lips. “How is your broom?”

Potter sighs, unconsciously tightening his grip on his bag. “Broken beyond repair, I’m afraid.”

“I’m very sorry to—I’m terribly sorry about all of this, Harry.”

Potter has to stop himself from laughing, far too used to hearing that. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault… Professor, I have to go to Transfiguration. May I leave now?”

“I—Yes. Yes, of course.”

Potter doesn’t need to hear anything more than that, and, without another word, he slips out the door and is gone.

XXXXX

Blaise catches Harry as soon their last class is over, practically dragging him into an abandoned classroom where Draco is already waiting. Knowing what he wants, Potter’s stomach turns to lead as his mind churns to produce an appropriate excuse for his behavior.

“Well?” Blaise asks, leaning casually back into the closed doorframe.

Panicking, Potter blurts the first thing that comes to mind. "I had a very strange dream."

Blaise looks incredulous. "All this because of a dream?"

Potter shrugs, starting to feel very foolish but unsure how to remedy that. Beside him, Draco frowns.

"What about?"

Mentally kicking himself, Potter tells them what he can remember, knowing that it won’t remotely begin to explain his reaction to the Dementors. To his surprise, that doesn’t seem to matter. Before he’s even finished, Draco and Blaise have both gone pale, and they quickly begin to demand more details. Slightly confused, Potter tells them that he can’t remember anything else, but this fails to satisfy them.

“The masks!” Blaise urges. “What colors were the masks?”

Potter’s mouth drops open. “The masks? I don’t know! Some combination of—of black, white, and… gold, I guess? I think silver, too, but it was kind of hard to tell, being the middle of the night, and all! I don’t know how you expect that I—“

“Did you see any of their arms?" Blaise interrupts.

Potter stares at him in amazement. "Their _arms_?" Then it clicks what Blaise wants, and his eyes grow wide. "Blaise, why on earth would I be dreaming about Death Eaters? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? But I’ve barely heard word of them since first year. How on earth would I know what one of their meetings is like? I’m sure that there must have been some other reason for my scar to burn like that. I destroyed Voldemort, you know that!"

Draco suddenly looks very uncomfortable. "You might not have seen anything recent, you know. It could have been some kind of glimpse into the past…"

 _Or future_. The unspoken message seems to cast a chill over the room, and Potter finds himself shivering. "I'm not some kind of seer, Draco. I'm barely even passing Divination."

"Still," Draco says, looking uneasy. "Be careful."

“I mean, of course I will, but…” Potter falls silent, remembering how Ron had said the same thing. But surely Hermione is the one who’s right here! He may be the Boy Who Lived, but that doesn’t explain dreaming of Death Eaters!

“Potter,” Blaise says, drawing Potter’s attention back to the present, “Whether what you dreamt was real or not, I wouldn’t write off your scar burning like that, not if something similar happened your first year here. You must have had that dream for a reason, and whatever that reason is, it’s reason enough for you to pay it close attention. But surely you must know that, or you wouldn’t have thought to tell us this.”

“I already told Ron and Hermione,” Potter admits. “I planned to tell you anyway, but Ron reacted sort of like Draco did, so I thought… for Merlin’s sake Draco, that’s even the face that Ron pulled when I told him I was going to tell you!”

Draco quickly changes his scowl into a look of mild disgust, and Potter just groans.

“Look, guys. I appreciate your concern, but I have three parchments to fill by noon tomorrow, and I haven’t even started. Are we done here?”

“I guess,” Draco says moodily.

Slowly, Blaise nods in agreement. However, as they leave, he grabs Potter’s shoulder, ignoring the automatic flinch long enough to say, “I was serious about what I said earlier. Even if you don’t trust us, you need someone to talk to about the things that you can’t talk to us about.”

“I do trust you! Really, I do. It’s just…”

“I understand. Or, I _don’t_ understand, but I know that that’s why you can’t talk to me about these things. Really, Potter, it’s fine. However, please consider what I told you.”

There’s a long pause before Potter nods. “Alright. Thank you.”

Blaise nods and releases Potter. The three walk to the Slytherin Common together in relative silence before splitting apart. Draco goes to talk to Crabbe and Goyle, Blaise has a book that he needs to finish, and Potter alone continues up to their dorm. He doesn’t want to be disturbed, not right now. Hoping that this will work, he lays down and clears his thoughts. Slowly, he reaches out with his mind, seeking the now familiar magical signature.

 _Tom_ , he thinks, projecting into the void as best he can. _We need to talk._


	59. Chapter 59

_Tom, we need to talk._

_Yes_?

Potter’s a bit startled by how quickly Tom was able to respond, but he knows that he couldn’t be imagining the carefully blanked face of the other boy or the panic that descends on him when he realizes how his invitation may have sounded.

 _It’s nothing bad_ , he quickly assures his friend, _I just needed your input on something. It’s just… well, it has to do with Death Eaters, sort of._

Tom raises an eyebrow, seemingly caught between amazement and distrust. _Alright_ , he says, _I’m listening._

Potter takes a deep breath before replying, hoping to calm himself as he begins: _I had a dream that was… well, it didn’t feel like a dream. In it, I was surrounded by masked adults, and my scar was burning. There was some kind of fog, I think, and there was definitely a feeling of dark magic…_

_And you think that this is connected to Death Eaters because…?_

_Because Blaise and Draco said that it might be._

Something unreadable flashes across Tom’s face. _Your dream doesn’t contain much information. I’m surprised that you felt it necessary to share._

Potter shrugs, slightly embarrassed. _I wasn’t going to originally, but I told it to Ron and Hermione to distract them from another issue, and Ron seemed convinced it was some kind of divination, so._

 _Ron is an idiot_ , Tom snaps. Potter’s eyes narrow in response, and Tom must notice. Sighing, he amends, _Look. While the setup does sound oddly familiar, I can’t imagine that it’s that uncommon. I’ll be honest with you, Potter. I’m not a fan of Divination in any form, and I’m inclined to take dreams as just that. If there’s anything that I can do to help you, I’ll gladly do so, but this isn’t something that I’m well versed in._

It sounds reasonable enough- it’s a calmer response than Hermione gave, certainly!- so Potter nods.

_Thank you for your help, Tom._

_Of course. Is there anything else that I can do to help you? You’ve seemed very on edge, lately._

Immediately, the Quidditch match springs to mind, but Potter forces himself to smile. _Just a bit of system drama, that’s all. It’s not a big deal._

Now it’s Tom’s turn to look suspicious. _I see._

Despite himself, Potter’s eyes dart to the side, showcasing his guilt.

 _I have to go_ , Potter mutters. Quickly, before Tom can respond, Potter returns to the body and climbs back out of bed. He’s been neglecting his friends lately. He should go talk to Ron or Hermione, or maybe he could get to know Draco’s friends better. Crabbe and Goyle have never struck him as particularly pleasant, but there’s no point in making such snap judgments. He should be ashamed of himself, really.

Something about that thought makes him wince. Alright, so maybe he reacted poorly to Tom’s questioning, but who could blame him? Tom already knows the gist of what they’ve been through, so it would be no good repeating that again. If he did go into detail, it might upset Tom and remind him of his own trauma. Besides, he barely understands what happened himself, and…

He doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s all. It was one thing to admit to having been abused, but the idea of letting anyone know just what the Dursleys actually did to them makes him feel sick. They’re not his memories to be sharing, anyway. If James wants to talk about what happened to him, that’s his right, but Potter shouldn’t try to talk about it for him. It’s a simple concept, really.

He still feels sick. Potter shakes his head as if doing so could force the panic to fall out through his ears. Maybe some fresh air would be helpful. Supposedly, the Dementors haven’t approached Hogwarts since the match- Dumbledore would be too furious if they did- so Potter doesn’t see how there could be any harm in a short walk. He’ll be back before curfew, and then, once he’s back in bed, he can apologize to Tom and have a more normal conversation for once. It feels like they never just talk anymore.

It seems that someone else wants to talk to him first, though.

“Can I help you?” Potter asks, trying to place the scrawny second year in his mind. The student pauses for a moment before tilting their face up and smiling at him. A lock of their hair falls in front of their face, and Potter realizes with a start who the girl is.

“Oh! Hello Ginny. Why are you wearing a hood?”

Ginny takes off the hood and shakes the rest of her hair free, still smiling in a way that’s beginning to unnerve Potter.

“Sorry,” she says. “I just don’t like being recognized as a Weasley, and this robe looks nicer than the others.”

“Oh.”

Potter wishes that he has something better to add, but he doesn’t, so after a moment, he invites her to sit by the lake with him and resumes walking. He’s almost unsure if she followed him until she sits beside him, and he wonders if she’s just that quiet or if dissociation is dulling his senses. The way that she’s acting, it almost wouldn’t surprise him to learn that she’s a ghost of some sort. She’s not transparent enough for that, though, so it’s probably impolite to assume that she’s anyone other than who she claims to be.

“So,” Potter awkwardly begins when it becomes clear that she expects him to speak first. “How’ve you been doing? I haven’t seen you in a while. How’re your classes going? Creevey isn’t still bugging you, is he?”

Ginny shrugs in response, not seemingly bothered by his string of small-talk questions. Of course, it might help that she then ignores all of them but the first. “I’ve been better, but I’m sure that I’ll be fine. You? Or was that the answer that you were going to give me?”

Potter wants to laugh away her comment, but somehow, it wouldn’t feel right. Perhaps it’s because she’s Ron’s sister, but he feels the need to make sure that she really is okay.

“Probably,” he admits. “But I’m still well enough to lend an ear. Are you sure that you’re alright? You seem a bit… Have you been eating?”

He doesn’t remember her being that thin, and he wonders if this is something that he should warn Ron to keep an eye on. On the other hand, something tells him that that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Maybe it’s Ron’s tendency to make a mess out of emotional situations, but it’s more likely how coolly Ginny is staring at him now, almost as if she’s daring him to continue with his train of thought or to threaten to reveal her to anyone else.

“Alright, fine. I won’t pressure you to talk about it. Just, if you need anything, I’m here, okay?”

“I know. Thank you, Harry.” Ginny smiles dryly at that, looking for all the world as if she knows something about him that he doesn’t. Potter opens his mouth to respond only to find that his mind is blank and he has nothing to say. Ginny is still watching him closely, and he no longer wants to be talking with her. Perhaps he owes it to Ron, but this is too much. His paranoia is getting the better of him, and he can’t help but feel that she knows of his condition. That can’t be possible. They’ve barely spent any time together! The last time that they spoke was when…

Potter could kick himself. Of course Ginny thinks that she knows more about him than she should! She saw him freak out over the Dementors on the train, and now she’s seen him nearly break his neck falling from a broom because Dementors infiltrated the field. Only an idiot wouldn’t see that those events were related, and considering what she heard of his first freak out, she might have a pretty accurate idea of why he’s so out of sorts. It doesn’t explain why she’s acting so remote, but not all abuse is confined to childhood. Potter remembers how convinced her brothers had been that Lockhart had gotten to her, as well, and a wave of nausea hits him so strongly that he finds himself doubling over to clutch at his stomach. Ginny makes a noise of surprise beside him, and he forces himself to straighten up, not wanting to make this harder on her than it has to be.

“I’m sorry, I really am. For whatever’s made you like this and for what I’m about to ask, as well. I hate to bring this up for you again, and I hate to put it so bluntly, but… Ginny, I don’t want you to have to suffer alone—”

 “Stop!” Ginny bursts out, suddenly pale. “I know what you’re going to ask, Potter. _Don’t_.”

She reaches for her books and clutches them close to her chest. Potter notices that her hands are trembling slightly as she says, “I don’t want to talk about last year any more than you do. I’m sorry that I sought you out, alright? I’m sorry that I ever tried to talk to you… Just forget I even came here. _You bloody hypocrite_.”

Before Potter can stop her, she’s leapt to her feet and is briskly walking back towards the castle. Potter watches her go, wondering how he could have done that better and if there’s anything that he can do to fix it. It’s too late now, though. Perhaps he should seek her out sometime next week and see if he can do anything to make up for his lack of tact. First, though, he needs to figure out just what she meant by her last statement. Did she really expect him to explain to her what he’d seen with the Dementors so soon after meeting? That’s a bit different from wanting to know if someone else was hurt by the same person that you were, isn’t it?

His head is beginning to pound. With a groan, Potter pulls himself to his feet and follows Ginny’s footsteps back inside. Somehow, he doesn’t think that he’ll be up for talking to Tom again tonight.

Mercifully, the dorm is silent as he trudges inside and prepares for bed, and Potter begins to feel a bit better about things. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have all of the answers now, he reminds himself. It’s not as if he’s under some time constraint that demands that he fix everything wrong in his world by a set date on pain of death. He can deal with all of this later. He’s sure that it will all turn out fine.

XXXXX

_That night, he dreams of laughter so manic that it makes the masked men cower. Power is swirling around him like a snake, and where it touches his skin, he burns. Somehow, he refrains from reacting to any of this. That same curious duality is back, and he almost finds it comforting to know that this other figure is so much more confident than he is. Were he to be here alone, he feels that he’d be horribly frightened._

Silence _, a voice commands, both internal and a serpent’s hiss, and, just as before, his thoughts go blank. He struggles for a moment, but then he’s gone._


	60. Chapter 60

He doesn’t tell anyone about the dream.

Christmas is approaching, and there’s no one to notice his gradual withdrawal. Oh, he’s sure that his isolation can’t last forever- Ron and Hermione both elected to remain at Hogwarts over the break, after all- but for now, he can’t imagine trying to end his seclusion. His nights are plagued by more misty visions, his days by a sense of segregation so intense that it’s almost surreal. It’s no longer enough to repeat to himself that everyone has their problems, that he’s certainly met enough people with their own problems! He’s tired of feeling like the only person that’s survived what he has, and while he hates himself for refusing to reach out to the few people who he knows could relate, he hates himself more for thinking about his own struggles when they must be suffering so much worse. The idea of placing more burden on even his alters makes Harry feel ill, and the only solution that he can see is to become nothing. If he speaks less, intrudes less, lives less, perhaps he’ll finally stop hurting everyone just by existing. If not, at least it’s an apt punishment.

Though any passage of time makes Harry’s dread of the upcoming break and the associated attention of his friends grow, it’s almost a relief when the next Hogsmeade trip arrives and he can watch from a distant window as the rest of his class pours from the castle like too many maggots bursting forth from a bloated corpse. This isolation is no less imposing than the last, but it’s far more appreciated. By now, Harry’s more than used to being alone in his mind, and it no longer bothers him to wander the castle halls with no threat of being noticed. If, by chance, he does see Daphne again, he’s not sure that he’d mind. For once, the idea of her misplaced hatred doesn’t upset him. Whether it feels deserved or not, it no longer feels relevant. After all, what could an angry third year possibly do to hurt him? Doubtless, he’s been through worse.

But wherever Daphne is, Harry doesn’t cross her. He spends a precious dozen minutes truly alone before he’s found by the twins, and he’s so frustrated at having to so quickly reconstruct his social mask that he could hex them. His wand hand twitches, and he just barely restrains the curse lingering on his lips.

The twins fail to notice.

“Why, hello there Harry! Fancy seeing you this fine day!” One of them simpers while ducking into a mock bow, and Harry forces himself to smile in return.

“Hello,” he replies, trying to hide that he has no idea which twin is in front of him and which is gesturing for him and the other to follow into an empty classroom by the statue of the one-eyed witch. If the first twin notices his confusion, he doesn’t comment on it, choosing instead to quickly usher Harry into the room and close the door behind them.

“Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” the first says. Harry just stares at him, trying to fight back rising panic. These are Ron’s brothers! They’re not going to hurt him. The door is closed, but it is not locked, and they’re not going to hurt him, they’re pulling out parchment, not taking off clothing, _they are not going to hurt him_ …

“You alright there?” The second asks. His frown doesn’t disappear at Harry’s jerky nod, but he must accept that Harry won’t or can’t explain himself. Taking the parchment from his twin, he pulls out his wand, tapping it lightly onto the open sheet.

(“Watch this,” the other says with a wink.)

The second twin speaks- “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_ ”- and ink lines spread across the parchment like a spider’s web is being woven before them. Words appear, and Harry strains to read them as the faint text solidifies into bold, curling green words.

 _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present  
THE MARAUDER’S MAP

Despite himself, Harry feels his curiosity ignite as he examines a highly detailed map of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. Moving around the map are small ink dots, each labeled with a name in miniscule writing. One is named Professor Dumbledore and is pacing in the man’s study; Mrs. Norris is prowling the second floor; Peeves is bouncing in the trophy room. There are names of lower classmen crowded in their dorms, and Harry’s sure that he’s never seen some of the passages shown.

“Right into Hogsmeade,” a twin says, ignoring Harry’s startled jump and placing a finger on the map to trace one of the paths. “There are seven in all, but Filch knows about four of them, we blocked another, and this one goes right under the Whomping Willow… but this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might have noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.”

“Right,” says the other briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it—”

“Or anyone can read it,” warns the first.

“Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

For a moment, Harry just stares at them, struggling to find a polite way to ask, _why on earth are you giving this to me?_

As if reading his mind, one of them—Fred, Harry finally determines—says, “It’s a wrench, giving it to you. But we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart. We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

“Thank you, then… really. This means a lot to me.”

“Don’t mention it!” George smiles at him. Beside him, Fred snorts.

“Really, don’t mention it. We need to visit Zonko’s Joke Shop and restock on Frog Spawn Soap, and we don’t have time to be getting all sentimental!”

“See you in Honeydukes,” George says, winking at Harry as the twins leave the room with satisfied smirks on their faces. Harry watches them go, torn. On one hand, he’s sure that that conversation involved more social interaction than he’s managed in weeks, and he really doesn’t want to have to mingle with any classmates at Hogsmeade. On the other hand, he really is curious about the wizarding village, and for once, he feels almost… _normal_. Maybe he will be alright today, and if he is, it would be an awful shame if he wasted it inside and alone.

After another minute of uncertainty, Harry abruptly rolls up the map, stuffs it into his robes, and hurries outside of the classroom and behind the stature of the witch. Taking out the map for a quick check of his location informs him that he must mutter _Disendium_ to enter the passage, and, only a short time later, Harry’s below Honeydukes and waiting for an opportunity to sneak open the trap door and disappear into the crowd that he imagines will be bustling about outside. Somehow, he manages to get past one of the shop’s workers without being caught, and then he’s free.

Harry ignores the short pang of regret that none of the children are with him this time before he sets off to find Ron and Hermione, reasoning that they’ll take his presence better than might his more paranoid Slytherin friends. He doesn’t have to search long, quickly locating the pair in the corner of the same shop. To his surprise, they’re looking for something to bring back for him, and he tries not to let the resulting feelings of guilt for having so quickly discarded them destroy his mood. They seem happy enough to see him now, though Hermione’s characteristically worried about Harry having broken the rules.

After paying for their sweets, Ron and Hermione take Harry on a tour of the village before leading him into the Three Broomsticks for butterbeers. They have a lot to tell him about, apparently, and Harry feels that most of it, he should have already known. They don’t blame him for it, though. They’re so careful with where they take the conversation that Harry’s not sure if he wants to spill out everything and apologize or run and hide where no one could ever find him again. He feels like he should be honest about Ginny, at least, but if any secret isn’t his to reveal, it’s that. Maybe he could tell them about the dream, but Tom has to be right that it’s nothing but senseless fear, and Hermione certainly doesn’t want to hear about it again! As for the half formed memories lurking at the back his mind like shadows waiting to swallow him whole, he couldn’t disclose them if he tried. Besides, why ruin such a pleasant chat with such horribly heavy talk? He’d rather concentrate on spending a lovely snowy day sharing warm drinks with close friends and forget the rest for just a while.

He almost curses aloud when the tavern door opens to reveal none other than Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Cornelius Fudge.

Harry’s under the table in a flash, and Hermione conjures a large Christmas tree to shield all of them from view. They wait with baited breaths as the unwanted company approaches and then stops, seated only a table away from their own. Beside Harry, Hermione has begun to twitch slightly, and Ron is scowling as if he’s swallowed sour milk. Harry can’t blame them. He wonders how on earth they’re going to get back in time, himself especially, with their professors with company right there…

And then the subject of the professors changes to Sirius Black, and everything else is forgotten. When the name of his father enters the discussion, Harry has to close his eyes and focus on breathing as evenly and quietly as he can. His nails are digging painfully into his palms, and he’s afraid of what he would do if given the chance. It hadn’t before occurred to him to ask Tom why, exactly, Black has such a vendetta against him. He’s had enough people dislike him from first sight that it had hardly seemed a relevant thing to consider. But now, thinking that this all ties back in to his parents…

Unbridled fury flashes within him, and his next breath is a harsh gasp. Hermione looks worriedly his way, but he notices this in only the most distant of manners. Part of him wants to stand up, forcing the table over in the process, and march forward to demand to know what that good-for-nothing-low-life had gotten them into before they were even born. Another part of him is fighting against that, fighting to retain its newfound loyalty to the more prominent members of the system even if it destroys him to do so.

 _Listen to them!_ James hisses. _Our father did everything that he could have for us! He died for us—!_

_He left us to die. He made a rash, stupid decision, and it was the last he ever made. Would have killed all of us, you and me with them…_

Harry observes through a mental fog that this must be the first time that he’s ever heard Vermin speak, much less admit to being an alter himself. It’s as if neither James nor Vermin is aware of his presence, but that suits Harry just fine.

The professors leave with the minister, and Madam Rosmerta returns to bartending. Ron and Hermione sit in silence. Harry notes that Hermione is still shaking.

He stands up and pushes away the tree, ignoring the surprise of his friends and alters both. Ignoring Hermione’s cry of “wait!” and Ron’s stuttered demand that he sit back down and think this through, Harry pushes out onto the street. He doesn’t know what Ron’s going on about. He’s just fine.

His trip back to the castle is very quiet. James might have tried to talk to him at first, but if he did, Harry couldn’t hear him. His head is filled with static, and even his own thoughts are remote and faint. It doesn’t really matter. He’s fine.

He’s still fine during dinner, even if Blaise and Draco begin to eye him as though he’s bleeding dry onto the table between them. He’s fine in the evening when he avoids their game of chess to sit in their dorm alone. He’s fine when they come in to talk to him and he lies in his bed and pretends not to hear them. He’s fine when Tom’s mind touches his own and he resolutely shuts the contact down and pretends to have fallen asleep. He’s fine when he doesn’t sleep yet refuses to leave his bed until after the dorm has emptied and his housemates have all returned to their loving families while he’s left behind yet again. He’s fine, and nothing could ever convince him otherwise.

That’s why it doesn’t matter when he finds himself on the astronomy tower, measuring the distance down with his eyes.

Because everything is

Just

fine.


	61. Chapter 61

***Major Trigger Warning for Suicidal Idealation***

_This chapter is almost entirely characterization and can and possibly should be skipped if one is in a vulnerable state of mind_

He feels like a statue. It only started snowing a few minutes ago, but already his still form is dusted in a thin sheet of white. He couldn’t move to dislodge it if he tried. His muscles cramped beyond his control hours ago, and perhaps any movement would send him crashing to the ground below, crashing to the ground to shatter as thoroughly physically as he has mentally. He wouldn’t mind that. Either he’ll fall or he won’t. Either he’ll die or he won’t. It’s so simple, really. There’s a certain inevitability to it all, a clarity that he feels must have been what his life was missing. There’s no stress here, no fear or pain or shame. His mind is as still as is his body, and he can’t help but wonder if death would be this sweet. He’s tempted to find out, but leaving his life in the hands of fate seems more poetic. Merlin knows his life needs more of that.

For a moment, he’s tempted to laugh at that, at a society that swears by Merlin but goes home for every Christmas, but even the stupidity of it all is too stupid to acknowledge. Harry’s eyes drift shut, and almost subconsciously he shifts his weight slightly. His muscles protest with pin-pricks of fire, and he shifts farther, wondering if this will be the moment he loses traction, if the snow beneath him has built up enough of a sheet to send him slipping down without warning. The moment passes, and he sits there with legs that feel like stone—heavy, but not heavy enough. His head is beginning to feel heavy, and it distantly occurs to him that he should be almost catatonic from lack of sleep. He supposes he has his magic to thank for his continued ability to function, and then the first seed of fear is planted. Didn’t Neville say that he’d discovered his magic after being dropped from a window? Could Harry kill himself this way if he tried?

It’s too much to consider. He didn’t come here to feel, and he squashes this down as firmly as he has the rest. He can already feel the cracks in his mental defenses threatening to widen, and he knows that he must act quickly to freeze them over. If any of his alters notice the thoughts swirling in his mind, it’s already lost. Normally, he could block them all in an instant, but nothing on earth would keep them from forcing him back to safety if they knew just how much danger they were in. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. He’s heard of spells that instantly kill the user casting them, and anyway, couldn’t something as simple as summoning out his own heart be affective? Perhaps he’d need to be careful not to lose his grip on the magic once it started, but he’s sure that he could think of some way around that if it came down to it.

The cracks still aren’t completely blocked, and Harry feels something stir behind them, some part of him roused by memories of magic that could kill in an instant.

 _Shhh_ , Harry thinks to the part, hysteria coloring his words. _Shhh, just stay down._ But now someone inside is responding, and Harry could scream, could throw himself on the ledge and force them away, all of them…

_What the hell are you doing!_

Panic explodes from somewhere beyond him, and his body throws itself backwards before he can stop it, latching onto the tower wall and gasping for breath. The air that rushes into their lungs is cold, and they double over coughing so hard that Harry’s almost convinced they won’t be able to stop themselves long enough to really breathe.

“Incendio,” his body chokes, and the flame that alights only inches above their hand makes Harry wince. Only now is he aware of the severe chill that’s seeped into his bones, and his entire body is aching. Suddenly, exhaustion sweeps through him, and he wants nothing more than to go to sleep.

_Don’t you dare! Goddamn it Harry, goddamn you!_

“Tom?” Harry mutters, blinking heavily and feeling very stupid for not having noticed who was with him before. Really, he feels very stupid about everything, and perhaps it would be best if he left now, but Tom is somehow preventing him from drifting off inside, and Harry must try not to hate him for it.

“What are you doing here?”

 _What am I…_ Suddenly, Tom is in control again, forcing them to stand on stiff legs and muttering some complicated incantation under their breath. They still stumble as Tom drags their body inside, but they’re not nearly as damaged as they should be. Harry must try not to hate him for that, too.

They settle back against a wall, and though Tom has lit another fire, this time in a proper fireplace, he can’t stop them from shivering. Actually, he seems to be shivering himself, eyes wide open but unable to see the small room around them.

“What—” he begins. He stops and tries again. “You—”

Their cheeks are wet, and Harry blames it on the snow melting down their scalp. Internally, he’s still frozen solid, and Tom is too strong to cry.

Except now one of them must be crying, because they’re absolutely sobbing, and it’s beginning to unnerve Harry. This is the last thing that he wants. If only he could go back to feeling nothing, he’s sure that he would never struggle again, but this…

“Don’t you dare,” Tom finally gasps. “Don’t you dare follow him. Oh lord, Harry. Oh god, what did we do to you.”

Harry shakes his head. “You didn’t do this.”

Tom laughs, but it’s a distressed, broken laugh, and Harry briefly pictures shoving Tom’s physical body back against the wall, forcing it to silence. He’s not sure quite how he could do that, but it sounds appealing.

“What did we do to you,” Tom repeats, and Harry winces at the sound.

“It’s alright,” he finally whispers in response, hating how his voice cracks in the cold. “It’s alright. Don’t you see? This is what’s meant to happen. It’s all what’s meant to happen, don’t you get it? We survived again, but eventually we won’t. That’s okay. It’s our fate, it’s okay.”

“No, it… you… _damn you_ Harry…”

Obviously, their conversation is going nowhere. Harry’s head is pounding, and he’s beginning to think that perhaps he should try to get some sleep. Tom is silent as he pulls himself back to his feet and makes his way back down to the dungeons. It’s a long walk, but Harry’s not worried about being seen. Somehow, it doesn’t seem relevant, really. Nothing does.

“So that’s it, then?” Tom says suddenly, and Harry wishes he wouldn’t. Can’t he see that he doesn’t care?

“Oh fuck you!” Their body stops, so Harry stops with it, waiting. Tom looks like he could strangle him. Harry wishes that he would.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. What the hell is wrong with you! So you don’t care at all about your alters? You don’t care about your friends, about _us_? About Ginny? About the fucking wizarding world, about anything!”

“They’d be better off dead.”

Harry doesn’t specify who he’s talking about, and he doesn’t need to. Tom has gone very pale, and he looks as if he’s going to be sick.

“I can’t do this,” he finally whispers. “I don’t know what to… I can’t just leave you like this, I…”

Their feet change paths. They head back up towards the seventh floor. Finally, unease settles in Harry, and when he realizes that they’re headed towards Dumbledore’s tower, he forces them to stop, panic breaking through.

“No. No, no, you cannot just! You hate him as much as I do, what the hell are you doing!”

“Who else can I go to? Any other teacher will just turn us in to him. Same with Madam Pomfrey. I can’t just leave this to your friends, Harry. You need help, real help, and I don’t…”

“What kind of help could Dumbledore ever give! He’s the one who left us with the Dursleys, left us to face Quirrell first year and _you_ last year. If you’re trying to get me locked up in St. Mungo’s, it won’t work.”

They stop again, but Harry’s beginning to feel jittery, and he takes over to again walk towards their dorm, entire body trembling and twitching enough to make one mad. Several times, he has to duck into side corridors to avoid running into other students, and he finally realizes that the others must be returning from lunch. Ron and Hermione will be looking for him soon, and the thought makes him sick. He walks faster, and by the time he reaches the Slytherin Commons, he’s consciously forcing himself not to run. Drawing attention to himself is the last thing that he wants, hopeless though that battle may be.

His Gryffindor friends can’t reach him in his dorm, but Harry locks the door behind him anyway.

That can’t keep Tom away. Harry tries to ignore him, to ignore everything, but he quickly realizes that his body won’t relax enough for sleep nor concentrate enough to read. His hand shakes too badly for his quill to hold ink, and he’s afraid that his grip would snap his wand in an instant. He longs to switch and leave someone else to deal with his mess, but the overwhelming shame seems to have locked out the others far better than his need ever could. Besides, if Harry can’t handle this, who on earth could? Not Lily, the innocent one, not Potter, the normal one, not James, redeemed, not Jay… or maybe she could, surely she could, but she would hate him for it, and he couldn’t blame her for it, he…

“You need to stop,” Tom says quietly, and Harry just shakes his head. He couldn’t stop if he tried. There’s only one way out, and with even that denied to him, there’s nothing left, nothing…

“Stop,” Tom repeats, more firmly this time. He sounds much older than Harry’s used to, and Harry wonders if that’s how Boy would sound were he to ever calm enough to communicate. He wonders if he sounds younger than he is, as young as the body is, and he wonders what’s the point of being younger or older at all if it won’t change anything.

“You’re crying,” Tom whispers, and Harry should have known that, but he didn’t. He can’t feel it, but he can see the tears collected on his robe when he wipes his sleeve across his cheek, and if he really concentrates, he can taste salt on his lips. Something inside of him shudders at that, at thick salt at his lips, and he loses sensation there, too.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Tom says, and Harry wants to laugh because he doesn’t know either, but obviously he’s not doing it _well_ , and that’s the important part, is it?

“How does it feel?” He finally says, only clarifying when it becomes clear that his thoughts aren’t nearly as clear out loud as they were in his head. “What is it like, to not hurt? To know what they did to you and not hate yourself for it?”

It takes a while for Tom to reply, and Harry can’t tell if he’s struggling to find a way to describe it or trying to build up courage to say what he’s always known. His voice is cracked when he does speak, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s turned inwards again, and Harry can’t blame him.

**((TW for abuse, victim blaming, violence))**

“You’re wrong. It—hurts— more than you could imagine, looking at us. I don’t know if Riddle remembers it, or… well, Voldemort, but… I do. I never forget it, and I never stop wondering if we deserved it, if we paid for our crimes in reverse. Yes, we were young enough then, but we’re far from innocent now. You’re their hero, Harry, but we’re their villain, and we deserve it.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t hate them for it.” Tom’s eyes close, and his throat bulges when he swallows. His breathing is labored, but he continues: “Like you, we were abandoned as a child, but we had no relatives to be left to, nowhere but a small orphanage and a woman with no reason to care if we survived. Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, but—” He chokes on his own words, and after failing twice to force them out, he rushes past them. “When we came to Hogwarts, we thought that it could be our safe haven. Everything was alright here, and even if Headmaster Dippet made us return home for the summer, we had been strong enough to keep the other children away from us for years. We only had to make it through the summers, that was all, and then we could return here, return _home_ , and everything would be alright.

“It was, at first. It was when it was just us, before we realized how many of the other students felt the same way, were hiding the same secrets. You don’t know the kinds of things they would tell us, Harry. You couldn’t even imagine… so many of them, almost all Slytherins but not entirely all, the stories they had… one Pureblood was being fucked by her uncle so that she’d produce a pure heir. Another was beaten every time she slipped on Pureblood customs in public. One boy was tortured under the Cruciatus Curse for falling in love with a muggleborn, another was locked in a room with a Dementor for speaking back to his father, my closest friend told me that her father was _selling her_ … The more people confided in me, the more others seemed to think that they could do the same, and there were so many of them… and some of them were so _angry_. The girl who was raped by her uncle, she was caught raping a halfblood behind the greenhouse. One of the boys who was being beaten was expelled for hexing out someone’s tongue to punish them for calling him a faggot. The girl who was… sold, she almost strangled someone with accidental magic, and when Headmaster Dippet stopped her, she just started _laughing…_

 “I knew how they felt. We all did, really. Our magic had protected us before, we’d even weaponized it, but it wasn’t enough. These were wizards being hurt, strong ones, even, and we knew that that could be us. We were lucky that the mudbloods at the orphanage were so weak, but all it would take was crossing the wrong person’s path, and… we couldn’t risk that. We began to study Dark Magic as a precaution, but then it was so much more than that. We were _strong_ , Harry. For once in our life, we were in control, and we knew it. It wasn’t accidental, what we did. We understood it, we controlled it, and no one could touch us. They _feared_ us, and many of them hated us, but no one could hurt us anymore…

“We tried to use it for good, we really did, but we didn’t even know what good _was_ anymore. The people who should have protected us didn’t. The people who promised to provide us a safe haven were letting us return to the least safe situation possible every summer, and others were being abandoned to the same, but even they, even the victims, just because they’d been hurt didn’t make them good. There was so much anger at ourselves, at our abusers, at the ones allowing the abuse to continue, at the ones who turned the abuse on others… Some of those who claimed to have been abused were lying, did you know that? Or exaggerating, or being honest but still using it as an excuse, and they _destroyed_ the real survivors, other survivors, and…

“Voldemort had his magic. Dark Magic twists you anyway, it really does… ‘Not even once,’ as the muggles would say, but… Salazar, he… well, you don’t know him, but he saw the Pureblood aggressors, the powerful men and women who were the ones doing the hurting, not being hurt, and he modeled himself after them… Riddle, I don’t think he could ever feel. The rest of us, we just tried to follow their example. It gets easier, after a while. You get used to shutting it all away and focusing on the results, then on the process, then just on the idea. After so much pain, what’s a little more, right? Why should we leave them untouched when someone else will do it for us? Why not hurt them when they’d do the same to us if given the chance, or do it to someone else, or let someone else do it to us?

“There are those who really can’t feel, Harry, but I’m not one of them. I feel anger just fine.”

Tom finally stops talking, and Harry isn’t sure that Tom even realizes that he was ever talking. He looks so distant that it makes Harry feel sick to look at. Harry should feel sick about the things that Tom just described. He should certainly feel sick for the part of him that envies Tom!

Harry feels tired, and Harry is still bitter that he wasn’t allowed to die, and Harry can’t deal with anything else tonight.

Tom fades into the background. Harry goes to bed.

The body sleeps just fine with no one in it.


	62. Chapter 62

They’re alone when she wakes up, and she likes that. They haven’t eaten in over a day, and she likes that, too. The body feels empty and sluggish with exhaustion, and the familiarity soothes her. Harry can panic about maniacal murderers to his heart’s content, but she’s always been more practical. Starvation is a familiar beast, and it’s one that she has far more experience surviving. Perhaps now that it’s relevant again, the others will remember what she’s always known. The wizarding world isn’t meant for people like them. It has its nice points, even she’ll admit that, but they can’t stay here forever—surely, the last two summers have proved that!—and if they focus too much on it instead of on the real world, the “muggle” world, she’s horribly afraid of what the result might be.

Of course, she would never let the others realize that she was afraid. That would not do, not at all.

Petal smiles to herself as she retrieves one of their notebooks and settles down in a corner beside the beds. There are a million things that she could or should be doing right now, and if they fall any more behind in trying to teach themselves the regular school subjects that Hogwarts would have them miss she’s afraid that they’ll never catch back up, but it’s been so long since Petal has had time to herself that she can’t help but use some of it for her own enjoyment. Their hands are easier to control than she remembers now that no tremors plague them and the desire for neat handwriting has been replaced with a legitimate need to be able to slowly and evenly prepare potions, and Petal glances idly around their dorm room to decide what to sketch. If she were back with her Aunt, she would sketch her aunt’s face, a vase of flowers, or the way that the light comes in through the kitchen window, but now she has no one to show her drawings to to justify wasting time on them, so she’s tempted to try something new.

After a minute, she settles on the memory of Hermione and begins to draw. Normally, she would be the first to try to keep Hermione away from them, really, she would, but she has to admit, a friend that’s willing to stand by them even after being frozen solid by a basilisk because of them is probably not someone who’s going to be leaving them any time soon. Oh, Petal will be careful about it. If it does seem like Hermione is drifting, Petal will never let Harry hear the end of it, but for now, there’s no harm in indulging in the girl’s affection. Besides, Petal thinks with a stab, better for Harry to be interested in a nice _normal_ girl than for him to get any strange ideas about any of those wizarding boys he fancies. Petal can forgive a lot, certainly more than Potter or Harry would give her credit for, but homosexual deviancies are still a little too much for her.

At least her drawing is turning out rather nicely. Unfortunately, it seems that she’ll finish right around noon, and their stomach is rumbling horribly. Petal pauses her activities to push the end of her stolen pencil into her mouth, debating with herself. While it is true that this is the best that they’ve done in months, they will need _something_ to carry them by. Even Petunia allowed them that… well, not _that_ summer, but Petal wouldn’t have allowed them anything then, either, horrible as they had been before earning that particular punishment. They should have faced the same this summer, and it pains Petal to think that one of those _others_ had taken them away from that. At least it prevented them from being even more of a burden than usual on their already over taxed aunt and uncle.

But what they do here can’t affect their aunt and uncle one lick, so Petal finally carefully sets the notebook aside and dresses in Harry’s robes before exiting the Slytherin dorms and heading towards the Great Hall for lunch. She only plans to swipe a few pieces of toast and a drink of cider, but there are so few students who stayed behind for the holidays that anyone who enters or exits the hall is immediately noticed. Hermione and Ron are upon her in moments like a pair of starving vultures. Petal pulls back from Ron’s grasp on her arm in annoyance, but he seems not to notice.

“Oh, thank goodness we found you!” Hermione is saying beside him, wringing her hands in open distress. “Oh, we were so worried that one of you would have—”

“What was that about, mate?” Ron interprets, his pale face throwing his freckles into sharp contrast. “You can’t just run off like that with Black on the loose! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Petal feels a sneer curling onto her face. _Yes, Harry was_ , she thinks to tell him, but she doesn’t. No need to raise that alarm. They survived, didn’t they? No one else needs to know.

“What’s so funny!” Ron demands.

Beside him, Hermione’s hand wringing has intensified. “Oh, please don’t do anything rash…”

“Stop laughing! Are you the one who tried to kill him?”

At least they recognize that she’s not Harry or Potter. Rolling her eyes, Petal turns and walks away to retrieve what she came for. Despite her deliberately approaching the Slytherin table, neither of her two newly acquired interrogators back off.

“Look,” Ron is still insisting, “We just don’t want you trying to go after Black, that’s all. I know that he hurt you, but you can’t stand up to a fully grown wizard—”

“Haven’t we?” Petal asks, her irritation finally refusing to be ignored.

That gets through to him. Ron looks almost guilty, though Petal couldn’t imagine why. It would be ridiculous for anyone here to feel responsible for that madman targeting Harry, Harry included. That headmaster, however…

“We know that you all are more than capable of handling yourselves, really. We just want to make sure that you all are being careful about it,” Hermione finally says.

Petal rolls her eyes, pockets two rolls, and turns back to face them. “Thank you for your concern, but we’ll be fine.”

Ron seems ready to protest, but Hermione’s eyeing the pocket that the rolls disappeared into, a thoughtful frown on her face. “You can’t be meaning to eat only that? I didn’t see you here for breakfast or dinner last night.”

“Is that… girl still giving you trouble?” Ron asks.

Petal bristles. “ _Petal_ , thank you, and I _am_ ‘that girl.’”

She glares at Ron, daring him to say something else, and Ron’s mouth clamps shut. Hermione, however, either misses the signal to shut up or has decided that it’s not worth acknowledging.

“You must know how horribly thin Harry has gotten! Really, he—you all need more food than just a bit of bread.”

“You call this horribly thin? You can’t even count our ribs!”

“That’s not a good way to judge weight at all! Harry could be _dying_ by the time that he reaches that point!”

“Oh please! Besides, that’s why I’m getting him this. He’s not starving, he’ll be fine.”

“But I’ve read that—”

“Yes, I’m sure you have,” Petal comments dryly. Ron glares at her, and she stares coolly back.

“Look. I’m done here. It was nice meeting you, but I really couldn’t care less about your opinions, and you obviously don’t respect mine, so I think it would be best if I left now.”

Petal doesn’t give them any more chances to protest. Inwardly, she’s seething. How dare those stupid kids challenge her like that? She’s _17_ , far more knowledgeable about what their body can and can’t handle than those little rugrats will ever be! Can’t they at least pretend to acknowledge that?

When she gets back to their dorm, Petal tears up her picture of Hermione. The proportions were all wrong.


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW for description of food deprivation, malnutrition, and disordered eating*
> 
> This is another characterization/background based chapter that can be skipped if one would find its contents destabilizing or otherwise harmful

_Origin: Petal_

_Their stomach is so empty that the carpet looks appetizing. If they had newspaper, they would rip that into strips and stuff it into their mouth, but if Vernon caught them, he would beat them so badly that it would hurt to sit down for weeks. Trying to eat any of the house plants would be worse. They only did that once, and they learned their lesson far too well to try it again. No, if they don’t want to risk getting caught pulling scraps from the garbage, they’re going to have to wait for someone to take pity on them and give them something from the table. In the worst case, school resumes next week, and they’ll be guaranteed lunch then. The Dursleys don’t want them to starve, not really. It’s not their aunt or uncle’s fault that Harry climbed onto the roof when no one was watching him and that no one can figure out how he did it, not even him. It’s a sign of his freakishness, and the Dursleys have to do_ something _to try to get rid of it. The system just wishes that that something could be less painful._

_Vernon calls for them, and they slowly unlatch their cupboard and drag themselves to their feet, taking a moment to pause and orient themselves. Their head is spinning, and they feel like they might collapse. Their breathing is labored, and their chest feels funny. Boy is whining to be let out, but Potter doesn’t think that Boy would be able to do whatever Vernon wants from them, and he’s probably right. As things stand, the rest of them are struggling to pull their body into the kitchen and look at Vernon with the most respectful, least dazed expression that they can manage. They have no energy left for quickly switching between them. They’re lucky that Harry has long been asleep inside because otherwise, they fear that they wouldn’t be able to block him from seeing anything. Right now, they’re lucky to be able to stand._

_“Boy!” Vernon roars, taking a menacing step forwards, “Don’t you ignore me!”_

_“Sorry Uncle,” they mumble, trying not to slur their words. They don’t expect their apology to work, but Vernon must be afraid of marking them up too badly when their teachers will be able to see them before any bruises would have the chance to heal. His fists stay safely by his side._

_“Dudley is hungry,” he says shortly. “He wants bacon and eggs, and don’t you think that you’re getting any of that, Boy! You can have a piece of toast, and…” Vernon’s eyes dart around the kitchen as if searching for something to sacrifice. Behind him, Petunia stops fussing over Dudley to frown in their direction._

_“I suppose he should get the fat from the pan,” she says sourly. Her beady eyes anxiously examine his twiggy form, and her frown deepens. “Maybe some of the eggs, as well,” she amends. “We don’t want any of his teachers thinking that we don’t feed him.”_

_“Of course not!” Vernon snorts, “they don’t know how that… freakishness of yours keeps you alive, eh boy!”_

_“Yes Uncle,” they mutter, trying to ignore the urge to rub at their eyes and then curl up and sleep. They’ve heard this all before, and they’re under no delusions about how it will end. The toast and the most burnt of Dudley’s brunch may be theirs to savor, but everything else will be stolen from them, and no one will say a damn thing. Dudley is a growing boy and needs his food, after all. They’re a freak and need to stop stealing from their generous family._

_They can’t tell if they’re being sarcastic or if they’ve just given up on feeling worthy of being fed. It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is figuring how much of the food to scarf down before Dudley can get to it and how they can get away with hoarding the remainder until school resumes. Everything else can wait._

_XXXXX_

_When the long awaited morning finally arrives, they’re so relieved that they could cry. They’re all smiles as they stumble through the school building and collapse into their desk, ignoring the looks that their classmates send them._

_“Not sure why_ you’re _so happy to be back,” someone mutters, but they don’t care. They’re more energetic than they’ve been in days, thanks to the Durlseys finally breaking down and trying to put some meat back on their bones before anyone important can notice their state. They were allowed to clean up in the guest shower last night, and their clothes, hand-me-downs from some second cousin instead of Dudley for once, fit better than they would have imagined. To top it off, the school still has to give them lunch! Not that they’re not incredibly grateful for what they have been given lately, but even they get tired of only eating bread. (Petunia had tried to give them a grilled cheese and ham sandwich once, but after so long of having gone without, the richness had made their stomach ache something awful, and no one wanted to risk Vernon’s wrath if the next such experiment led to them vomiting.) They’re looking forward to some real fruit and maybe what the school tries to pass off as chicken nuggets._

_Unfortunately, having something to look forward to—and so close, too!— means having more reason to be dissatisfied with the present. The clock hands have never seemed to move so slowly. They know that they should pay attention to their new teacher, that their aunt and uncle won’t appreciate it if they can’t remember later anything that they need to know for the year, but they can’t help it. Their energy is quickly turning into restless jitteriness. Their head has been aching in the background of their awareness for days, and now it’s making its disapproval of their sudden propensity for so much movement known. What’s more, as the teacher drones on and their jitteriness intensifies into full blown trembling, they’re forcefully made aware of the fatigue that the energy is failing to completely mask._

_The teacher passes out syllabi, and they take theirs and try not to drop the stack that they need to pass to the classmate behind them. Their hands are shaking, and they feel a bit sick. It scares them. They don’t understand. They’re better off now than they had been all summer, so why is their body betraying them like this? They shake their head rapidly, as if trying to clear their thoughts, and someone tries to mask a laugh as a cough. They realize that they paused in a weird position, and their classmates are staring at them out of the corner of their eyes. Their anxiety increases further. They look back at the clock, trying to calm and reassure themselves. Two hours left before they can leave for lunch and put all of this behind them. How are they supposed to make it another two hours?_

_Except it’s not two hours, it’s one and a half. They’re the only one with a syllabus still on their desk, and the teacher has moved on to talking about her expectations for the year. They blink hard and slow, trying to force the situation to make sense. Maybe they lost time, but they don’t think that anyone in particular came out. They feel weird and mentally smooshed, everyone and no one at once. Maybe they fell asleep. Did anyone notice? The other children are still sneaking glances in their direction, but that’s nothing new and not worth worrying about. The teacher is still talking about the class and doesn’t seem to expect them to haul themselves off to the principal any time soon, so that’s fine. They just have to make sure that whatever just happened doesn’t happen again._

_Maybe that’s easier said than done, but they do try. Their attention can’t remain on the board for a second, but maybe if they focus really hard on the clock, they’ll be able to stop themselves if they start to slip up. Unfortunately for them, even using the clock as a focus point gets harder as their stomach grows increasingly distracting. They find themselves idly daydreaming about what they might get to eat at lunch, and it frustrates them beyond words when they realize that only half an hour has passed since their attention last slipped. What’s more, their anxiety is growing as they begin to fear that if lunch doesn’t come quickly, they won’t be able to manage eating anything at all. They’re beginning to feel the same sort of nausea that accompanied their attempt to eat the ham and cheese, and they can’t stand it!_

_Forty-five minutes left, and they realize that they have to do something or they’ll go mad. Maybe they just need to artificially fill their stomach a bit._

_“Can I get a drink of water?” They blurt, and their teacher pauses, halfway through handing out get-to-know-me surveys. She eyes them in a way that makes their breath catch. She must have been warned about them already: their tendency to misbehave and make all of the other students feel unsafe, how they lie to try to get others into trouble, how they’re always refusing to take care of themself so that they can blame any visible signs of neglect on their loving but desperate adopted family. Some sort of attachment disorder, isn’t it? Oppositional and defiant, doesn’t respect authority, can’t even wait a day into the semester before stirring up trouble!_

_“Stay in your seat,” she says shortly, and she resumes thumbing through the stack of papers to separate out five for the row of students in front of her._

_They mean to leave good enough be, they really do, but they can’t help themselves. “Please, miss, we—“_

_“I said stay in your seat!”_

_They hadn’t realized that they were standing. Their face burns as they sit gingerly back down, the students around them snickering._

_“Can always count on him to make a scene, huh?” They hear from behind them, and they’re so aggravated that they don’t even know what they’re doing, but their pencil ends up flying into the chalk board with a loud ‘smack!’_

_The snickers turn into full blown laughter, and the teacher looks at them in exasperation bordering on disgust._

_“Go get your pencil, sit back down, and…” They can almost see her mind churning to think of a suitable way to regain control of the situation before she loses any chance of ever gaining the class’s cooperation. Somehow, they already know where this is going._

_“And I want to see you during lunch!”_

_They’re torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to groan. They might actually giggle a little bit under their breath, but they’re not sure. As soon as they had stood up again to do as they were asked, their head protested by way of pretending it had been thrown into a blender. The room is swirling a bit around the edges, and it’s not helping their fears of throwing up._

_If their face is turning green, the teacher must not notice it. All that she does is insist, “get back to your seat! Potter, I will not tolerate this sort of behavior in my classroom! I’m going to call the headmaster in and—Potter!”_

_They’re not sure if they were headed for their seat or for the door—what’s the use in even trying anymore, really?—but they’re definitely not going to stay put if their teacher isn’t going to stop advancing on them like that. She looks far too menacing for such a baby faced young woman._

_“_ Potter _!” They’re still too disoriented to dart away like they normally would, and her hands grip their arms like a vice. They try to raise their own hands to shield their face, vaguely aware that there’s not much they can do to pull away in this state and already resigned to being shaken until they do throw up. Their stomach is churning worse than their head is, and they wish the teacher would stop shouting at them. Except, why is she using someone else’s name? Why is she asking not for the headmaster but for the nurse?_

_They don’t know if the nurse arrives in record time or if they’re losing time again, but it hardly makes a difference to them. They’re just aware enough of themselves and their surroundings to feel horrified when they dry heave over the nurse’s shoes, and then they collapse, hit their head on the cool checkered tiles of the classroom, and promptly pass out._

_XXXXX_

_They come to slowly, and for a moment, they don’t understand why they’re lying on paper instead of on the blanket that functions as their bed back at the Dursley’s. Then they hear the low murmurs coming from the nurse’s office beside where they lay, and the full gravity of their situation crashes down on them._

_“—had a stomach bug,” Aunt Petunia is saying. “I thought that he still looked a little weak, but my husband thought that it was so important that he be here the first day of school, and Harry was so insistent! He wanted to see all of his friends again, he was so lonely this summer—“_

_“Yes,” Petunia says in reply to something that they can’t hear. “Well, he hadn’t thrown up in over 48 hours, and we had made an effort to feed him as much as his stomach could handle and to keep him hydrated. I don’t know why—oh, I hadn’t even thought about his blood sugar levels, I was just thinking about calories… Okay, I’ll keep that in mind if—well, I certainly hope this doesn’t happen again!– Yes, I know. Of course that’s alright, I’d do the same in your position.”_

_Now the volume of Petunia’s voice drops, and they can’t make out anything. With nothing better to do, they slowly drag themselves to a sitting position and examine their surroundings more closely. There’s a small plastic cup filled with Gatorade sitting beside them, and they gulp it down greedily and try to resist the urge to make their way over the office to ask for more. There are saltine crackers, too, so they eat as many of those as they think they can get away with and then try to patiently wait. It feels like forever before the office door creaks open and the old school nurse and their aunt step through, but when it does happen, they almost wish they were alone again. They don’t like the look on their aunt’s face one bit._

_“Hi Harry,” the nurse greets them with fake cheer. “How are you feeling?”_

_“Fine,” they lie, and then, more truthfully, “I’m a little scared though. I don’t know why I passed out like that.”_

_The nurse looks over at his aunt, and his aunt tries to look concerned in return._

_“Well,” the nurse says carefully, “have you been eating less than usual lately?”_

_“Yes, I had a stomach bug for forever!” they say, grateful to know what she’s looking for. Some of the tension drains from their aunt’s face, and they spare a moment to be proud of themself._

_“That can do it! You need to be careful after something like that, I can see you’ve dropped a lot of weight.”_

_Aunt Petunia stiffens again, and they try to look surprised. They’re not sure if they’re doing a good job or if that’s even the appropriate reaction, but the nurse chooses not to comment. Instead, she seems a bit preoccupied by what they could only describe as an inner argument._

_“Normally—To be honest, Harry, I really don’t feel right not recommending you get a more thorough check-up in case something is seriously wrong…”_

_“But we decided that because your vitals all returned to normal so quickly, that really won’t be necessary,” Aunt Petunia interrupts. The nurse doesn’t look happy about that, but she doesn’t protest it either, and they can only stare. Somehow, they doubt that this is normal medical procedure, but it doesn’t surprise them as much as it should. This nurse has been a bit weird around them ever since that time her jar of candies burst into flames when she wouldn’t let them have one, and she’s been almost avoiding them since that time she was there to see their sudden teleportation to the roof when Piers was after them with a spider. They can’t really blame her for being weary around them now because at least she wasn’t as angry as Aunt Petunia was when she heard what they’d done._

_“Can we leave now?” Aunt Petunia asks, and though the nurse does hesitate, she finally nods her consent._

_“I don’t want to see him back at school for at least a week,” she warns, “and this better not ever happen again!”_

_They see her glancing at her desk as if waiting for something to transform or explode or disappear, though, and they know she would pretend not to remember her claim if there actually was a repeat. That’s alright. They’re used to that. So is Aunt Petunia, and they leave together without another word._

XXXXX

_The car ride back to the Dursley’s house is silent, just like they knew it would be, but then their aunt surprises them. She doesn’t open the car door right away. Her hand keeps rising to the key in the ignition and then back down to her seat only to jerk up again a few seconds later._

_“What will the_ neighbors _say!” she wails quietly and repeatedly to herself._

_Finally, she turns around in her seat to stare at them, her eyes wide and nervous._

_“We don’t owe you anything!” she says so sharply that they jump. Her face turns even more grim, but she presses on, almost rambling. “I took you in because my sister asked me too, but I didn’t have to, and no one could say that we don’t treat you right! We feed you and clothe you, and we provide you with the best education you could get, and it’s not our fault if you’re too ungrateful to…! But you are grateful, aren’t you? You do understand that what happened today… that wasn’t our fault! You’re just so naturally thin, and you’re lucky for that, you know! Your uncle and I, we’re both… well, your uncle is just muscular, and Dudley is a growing boy, of course, but I’d kill to be as thin as you! My sister too, she was—”_

_Petunia shuts up abruptly. With no hesitation this time, she removes her key from the dashboard and quickly ushers them back inside._

_“Don’t tell your uncle what happened today,” she warns them. Then, she leads them to kitchen._

_“Take whatever you want, but don’t tell Vernon.”_

_And then she disappears upstairs, and they’re left standing paralyzed with shock. Does she really mean it? It must be some sort of trick, but they can’t figure out how. She had seemed sincere, or as sincere as she ever could be, and Vernon really isn’t home to catch them in the act and pretend that his wife had never given them permission to do what he so cruelly denied. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to grab just a little food, just in case. Maybe they don’t have time to deliberate, and they’re absolutely sure such an offer would never be extended again!_

_Mind made up, they stuff their pockets with bread, a bit of very plain cheese, and two small pastries that they’ve been salivating over since Aunt Petunia baked them on Saturday for Dudley to share with his school friends. Knowing better than to push their luck right now and still feeling vaguely queasy, they eat only bread and berries before gulping down as much water as they can stand and returning to their cupboard to rest. It’s been a long day, and who knows what the next few days will hold._

_XXXXX_

_True to her word, Aunt Petunia keeps them out of school the next few days, telling Vernon only that they collapsed in school and that the school doesn’t want to see them back until they can refrain from such melodramatics. Vernon shouts at them until his face is blue, but when he finally becomes convinced that the school isn’t going to take any disciplinary action and this really is no different from what he’s come to expect anyway, he lumbers off without any punishment beyond demanding that Aunt Petunia put the boy to good use while he’s at work. Aunt Petunia, of course, wastes no time in agreeing, and that’s that._

_The system, now better fed and less excited than before, is no longer affected by the strong dissociation that had seen them so depersonalized the first day of school, and it’s quickly determined that Lily should be the one to try to appease any grudges that their aunt may hold. Their aunt may be quick to egg their uncle on, but she’s not exceptionally awful on her own, at least not when there’s no Dudley for her to “defend.” If Lily is careful enough to stay on her good side, Petunia can almost pass for pleasant. It goes against Lily’s nature to put on airs like Petunia does, but if that’s what’s keeping them fed, she’s hardly going to refuse. Besides, what Petunia has to teach her about “civilized” society isn’t so bad even if Lily does suspect that “Harry,” being a “boy,” is supposed to be more offended than she is about the feminine role they’re forced into. Lily even gets to participate in one of Petunia’s afternoon teas with the neighbors, though only as the one who brings the pastry tray around. (“He’s home because his teachers insist that he’s sick,” Aunt Petunia explains when asked. “They won’t allow him through the doors until he’s gone 24 hours without a temperature that’s perfectly natural for boys his age, can you imagine?”) She’s rewarded with one of the biscuits for her efforts, and she tucks half into her pockets for the children to enjoy later._

_Lily has taken to sneaking many things into her pockets lately, more so than any of them had dared to try before. It’s a habit that she keeps when they return to school, and then it’s a habit that grows into a compulsion associated with eating as little as she can manage without affecting their health and then hoarding the rest. It centers around a fear that Lily can hardly vocalize, much less explain. She’s sure that Aunt Petunia will never leave them so close to starving or even malnutrition again, but she can’t stop preparing for the worst. If the others try to eat too much, it makes her so anxious that she has to force herself not to cry. She’s taken to panicking whenever Petunia looks like she might get angry with them, too. She keeps going out of her way to stay on their aunt’s good side even when there’s no immediate need to do so. Even Dudley is noticing that they’re “sucking up” more. At first, he reacts only with sneers and taunts them about how no one will ever love a freak like them, but when Aunt Petunia seems to actually respond favorably, he begins to grow uneasy. There’s no doubt in their mind that Dudley is still their aunt’s favorite to a painful degree, but Dudley guards his pedestal jealously. At school, the harassment from his crew worsens, and Lily is driven even more strongly to seek what approval she can from their aunt almost as if in compensation._

_When Lily finally splits, the others are relieved. Even if the new alter is more deliberately harsh than Lily meant to be, her existence relieves the strain on Lily considerably, and the system eats better overall when the alter hasn’t been triggered to front. Eventually, the new alter, Petal as she calls herself, is triggered to front less and less often, Petunia stops rewarding the system’s good behavior (though never lets them go so underfed again), and things return to the same uneasy equilibrium that had existed before._

_Survive the trauma, compartmentalize, move on. In the end, Petal is the only reminder and the only one who still cares to remember, and that suits her just fine. She has everything perfectly under control._


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the slow update! I have every intention of posting at least another two chapters soon, and hopefully I'll return to a more reasonable posting schedule after that.

When Petal realizes that she’s the one who woke up yet again, she decides that enough is enough. What does it matter to her that the traditional fronters might not be stable enough to front? It’s their _job_ , and she’s tired of doing it for them. They’ll figure something out, she’s sure.

It takes her only a minute to locate James inside, and she begins to retreat as soon as she feels him stirring. By the time that he’s realized that he’s awake, she’s gone, and her memories are gone with her.

It takes James a minute to realize where they are and a minute longer to remember why that should surprise him, and then he’s on his feet in seconds, mind reeling.

_Shit! Potter, get out here now!_

Potter stirs so slowly that James can hardly stand it. Without the other alter to distract him, he finds himself replaying his memories of Hogsmeade again and again, searching desperately for what he must have missed. He can’t remember anything past leaving The Three Broomsticks. He doesn’t know why they’re so thin, so desperately hungry. He doesn’t know why he can’t feel even a trace of Harry inside. He has his guesses though, and they terrify him.

Finally, _finally_ , Potter joins him, and James doesn’t waste any time on explaining his fears. Instead, he shoves his memories at the other alter, feeling Potter’s responding terror as if it was his own.

 _What do we do!_ He demands, not giving Potter any time to adjust to what he just learned. _Goddamnit, what do we do!_

Potter doesn’t reply immediately. As James becomes more and more agitated, he seems to be growing paler and quieter.

 _I don’t know,_ he finally says. And then, when James looks about ready to maul him: _I… James, we need help. Actual, real—Blaise kept telling us we did, even Ginny… Maybe if I had listened, this wouldn’t have…_

_Brilliant! That’s just brilliant. Get help, sure! From who, exactly?_

Potter swallows heavily _. Look, we can’t be the first abused child to become known to the staff here. Maybe they’re just treating us differently because we’re the “Chosen One,” but maybe they’d react better if we actually reached out to them? Or, not Dumbledore,_ he quickly amends, _and certainly not Snape, but maybe Madam Pomfrey? Or…_

 _Or no one_ , James grumbles.

There’s silence for a moment, and then: _maybe Tom?_

_Are you fucking kidding me! ‘Hello, yes, Tom? Harry’s very upset because he learned that his parents were betrayed by their closest confidant and friend. I know that you’re the one who **actually murdered them** , but won’t you please help us?’ Give me a fucking break!_

_It wasn’t Tom who—_

_So if Anger strangles someone tomorrow, you think the rest of us should get off clean? Because you know, it wasn’t_ us _, it was_ him _? Bullshit! Tom must have known what Voldemort was doing. He already killed people, Potter! Or tried to, with the basilisk. How can you forgive him for that? How the hell can you trust him, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t!_

 _… fine then, not Tom._ Potter refuses to meet James’s eyes, carefully not committing. _Well, the rest of our friends are out of the question, we can’t burden them with this…_

_Maybe we could write to Mrs. Weasley?_

_Are you serious? No! God, James…_

_It was just an idea!_ James glares at Potter, and Potter struggles not to glare back. After a minute, looking angry enough to spit, James abruptly settles back into the body and stands up. Without waiting for Potter’s input, he leaves their dorm to wander the castle. His steps are quick, jerky, and tense. He feels the need to break into a run, but he knows that it wouldn’t help. Far from burning off his nervous energy, he’s feeling increasingly trapped. He’s all too aware of his inability to take actual, tangible action, and he hates it.

He’s so lost in his own mind that he almost walks directly into Lupin, and he doesn’t notice the man quickly taking a step back or even calling his name. It’s only when Lupin reaches out and gently grabs his shoulder that he spins around, half ready to throw a hex and half preparing to break to into a sprint.

Lupin drops his shoulder quickly and brings both of his hands into view as if showing that he means no harm. “Harry,” he asks, “are you alright?”

“… I’m fine, sir,” James manages to mutter. Though he knows that they must look like a mess, it still irritates him that Lupin clearly doesn’t believe him.

“Are you going somewhere?” Lupin asks.

“Library,” James bites out.

They both know that this corridor is nowhere near the library.

Before James can turn away and just walk off, Lupin clears his throat awkwardly and tries again. “Harry… why don’t you come into my office for a moment?”

“I’d rather not, sir,” James tells him truthfully, but he can tell from the determination on Lupin’s face that this is a losing battle. He acquiesces with a loud groan, not in the mood to play nice. His behavior is clearly only making Lupin more concerned, but he can’t bring himself to care. He doesn’t speak while Lupin is making tea for both of them, and he only starts drinking his cup when he sees that Lupin is going to really start panicking if he doesn’t. Well, that, and he realizes how damn hungry they still are.

Unsurprisingly, Lupin breaks the silence first.

“Harry... I know that you don’t know me well, and you have no reason to trust me yet. You’ve been through a lot, and the adults around you haven’t been much help. You must be very used to fighting on your own…” He clears his throat as if unsure how to say what he knows that he must. “You’re still a child, Harry. A very mature child who has seen more than most his age, but… you shouldn’t be trying to handle everything on your own. You shouldn’t _have_ to. Harry, please, I’ll do whatever I can for you. If you don’t want to reach out to me, there are other staff here who would drop everything to help you at a moment’s notice—“

“Right!” James snorts, unable to help himself. “No offense professor, but they didn’t do a lot of helping in the two years before you got here. You know, when Voldemort was trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone or when there was a bloody basilisk loose and all.”

Lupin goes a bit pale, but he doesn’t back down. “I don’t know what reasons my colleagues had for not acting sooner. But you’re right. That was wrong of them. They should have done more to help you or at the very least to support you after the fact.”

Lupin looks at him as if waiting for acceptance or a rebuff, but James can only stare. That was… wrong of them? Well of bloody course it was! But no adult has ever told them that before – Tom doesn’t count, he’s not nearly as old as his body is.

“We’re—I’m fine. Everyone was fine in the end, so it doesn’t really matter much,” James finally says, averting his eyes and trying desperately not to think of Nitin’s dead body hanging from the rafters or to wonder yet again what Harry attempted during the blank stretch in his memory.

“You aren’t fine,” Lupin says firmly. “You shouldn’t have to be. No one would be, after everything that you’ve gone through. Not without help.”

“I—“ James stops, desperate. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he feels like he has to argue with Lupin. Surely this is all a mistake, a misunderstanding. He’s always known that the adults in his life were wrong not to help him, but somehow, now that it’s actually being voiced, he can’t help but doubt that. Maybe they’re just overly dramatic. Maybe they’re as weak and pathetic as the Dursleys always told them that they were. Surely all of the adults in their life couldn’t have failed to protect them unless there was some good reason for it. Maybe they just don’t deserve any help.

James realizes that he’s shaking his head, and he shakes it harder. He feels sick, and he just wants this conversation to end. He’s starting to regret ever listening to Potter when he said that they needed ‘real help.’ This feels like karmic punishment.

When Lupin stands up from his chair, James almost falls out of his own, a flash of panic momentarily blurring his awareness of which male professor is walking towards him.

Then Lupin is kneeling before him, face clearly displaying his grief.

“You’re so like your father was,” he half whispers. “He never wanted any help, either. Always the brave one, him and— You have your mother’s eyes, though.”

“You… you knew my parents?” For a long moment, James is terrified that this is all some cruel trick to get him to open up and trust this stranger. Then he looks more closely at Lupin’s downturned face and notices the slight shaking, hears the quiet, shuddered breath. He takes in the grey hair and remembers how heavy the lines are on Lupin’s young face. James doesn’t want to trust him, is terrified of trusting him, but he knows that Lupin is being sincere.

“Your father was one of my closest friends,” Lupin admits. “Please, Harry. He would never forgive me if I didn’t protect you now. He must have already turned in his grave enough!”

“What was he like?” James demands, suddenly needing to know so much more.

“He was one of the cleverest students in the school, very talented. He was always involved in some mischief or another, we all were. Sometimes he could take the jokes a little far – he was young, thoughtless, carried away on his own cleverness– but he was a good man and a loyal friend. When the First Wizarding War began, he and your mother were at the front of it. I think that you’re a lot like he was. I… he would be proud of you, Harry.”

James doesn’t answer, but this time, it’s because he doesn’t think that he could speak around the lump in his throat. He can only nod, eyes burning with unshed tears. Despite it all, he still refuses to cry here. That’s one vulnerability too many.

Lupin seems to understand, or perhaps he’s too distracted by his own memories to question James. He does seem a bit distant. To James’s surprise, he suddenly realizes that he wants Lupin to acknowledge him again just so that he doesn’t have to leave yet. He doesn’t want to talk about their parents any longer – that would be too painful, and he’s had enough pain for one day – but maybe…

“Sir? Uh, I’m sorry to change the subject, but I was wondering why you didn’t let uh—me face the boggart before?”

For a moment, Lupin seems startled. Then, to James’s surprise, he laughs. “I would have thought that was obvious, Harry! I didn't think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.”

“Lord Volde—” And now James is the one to laugh – a slightly hysterical half giggle, but it’s something, and he relishes it. “No, we’re not scared of Lord Voldemort! Or, not over everything else, at least. He could be the boogeyman, as far as I’m concerned. He already botched killing us twice, didn’t he? And once when I was an infant, at that! No,” James scoffs, “we’ve got bigger threats than him. Hell, I’d place the dementors above him right now! They’re the ones that made me fall off my broom. That’s more than he ever managed.”

Lupin starts to speak, stops, and then starts again. “I’m inclined to argue with you, Harry, but you may have a point… not about Voldemort being less of a threat than dementors, mind you, though dementors are a very reasonable fear. Fearing fear itself… very wise.”

James just shrugs. Wise? Maybe not. He’d still rather face the dementors than the Dursleys. What’s fear of being hurt compared to actually being hurt, for years on end at that! But Lupin doesn’t need to know that.

Lupin clears his throat again. And then: “I could help teach you to defend yourself against them. Now mind you, I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry, quite the contrary...”

“I would appreciate that,” James interrupts, and the slightest ghost of a smile lands on Lupin’s lips.

“It'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do, and I suspect that I’m falling ill. But yes, I will gladly help you.”

James thanks him and then lingers only a few more moments before leaving. He’s still afraid to admit it to himself lest he jinx it, but his spirit feels uplifted. For the first time in a while, he’s cautiously optimistic about what the future might hold.


	65. Chapter 65

Harry is still missing by Christmas morning, but James and Potter are determined to make the most of it without him. Really, Potter is more than used to handling long stretches of fronting on his own, and as much as he and James still clash on occasion, he finds that James’s upturned spirits provide a nice relief from his own unwavering stress. Maybe together, the two of them can create a Christmas memory that will comfort Harry to return to. If nothing else, perhaps they can bolster their own spirits until they can get more meaningful help or until Harry returns and is stable enough to take back over.

For now, Potter just wants to focus on spending Christmas with Ron and Hermione, both of whom remained at Hogwarts. Potter feels a bit guilty about that – he knows how much Hermione enjoys seeing her family over break, and he can’t help but suspect that she only remained here because she was worried about him – but he has enjoyed their company. He’s especially looking forward to opening presents with them. The system tried hard to find gifts that would convey their gratitude to all of their friends, and they want to see how Ron and Hermione react to theirs.

Ron opens his presents first. From his mother, there’s her usual care package: a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. From his siblings are various knickknacks, sweets, and prank objects (some of which may or may not be masquerading as more innocent knickknacks and sweets). From Hermione is a planner that says “motivational” phrases to help “inspire” Ron to do his work. Then there’s their gift, a new toy for Scabbers and a small book on how to ensure that a wizarding rat gets the most out of their old age.

Hermione goes next. Unsurprisingly, she’s gotten a lot of books, and she also received the same assortment from Mrs. Weasley. Less expected is the leather wand holder from Blaise. (“Really, I barely even know him!” she exclaims, fretting over not having gotten him anything in return.) Finally, she comes to their gift. She unwraps it slowly, and when she realizes what it is she almost drops it.

“Did you paint this?” she asks, awed.

“Lily did,” Potter confirms. “She and Petal are the only ones of us with any artistic talent.” He doesn’t mention that Lily’s painting is actually based on Petal’s torn drawing. He doesn’t think Hermione or Petal would appreciate him sharing that.

Finally, Potter and James look at their own gifts. From Mrs. Weasley, they have the same treats as Ron and Hermione, but their sweater is a deep green. Beside that package is a single sock – it’s a bit baffling until Potter remembers that a sock was what freed Dobby, and then he has no idea how to explain that to his friends and has to awkwardly try to distract them with the next present. Ron has gotten them yet another book on Quidditch, which James thanks him enthusiastically for. Hermione got them a magical day planner as well, one that will not only help them to keep track of where they need to be and what they need to get done but can also record their basic location every half an hour if they’re weary of losing time.

The small, expensive looking ivory hippogriff carving is of course from Draco, which makes all of them laugh. It’s just like him to consider his refusal to press charges against Buckbeak a gift! Blaise’s gift is beneath it, a thick tome with instructions on wizard dueling. Hermione is eyeing that like she might want to borrow it, which Potter teasingly allows in exchange for one of her chocolate frogs. To his surprise, there’s still another present hidden behind the others.

“Did my sister really send you that?” Ron’s ears have turned red.

“I suppose she must have,” Potter muses, turning the painted rock over in his hands; the attached card says that it’s for grounding from anxiety, flashbacks, or dissociation. It’s not a bad gift, he has to admit, but considering their last interaction, he’s not quite sure what message it’s supposed to be sending. After a minute, he gives up on trying to figure it out and moves on to the final package, a long, thin parcel with no indication of who sent it.  

“It’s a Firebolt!” James exclaims as they open it, and so it is. For a minute, the trio wracks their brains about who it could be from, but as they nix name after name, Hermione begins to look anxious.

“Who'd send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they'd sent it?"

"Who cares?" says Ron impatiently. "Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?"

"I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" says Hermione shrilly.

James sighs, trying (and mostly failing) not to seem too irritated with her. “What’s the worst that could happen? No, really! We already had our broom hexed. Then we fell off because of dementors, that’s why we need a new broom in the first place! Who’d be stupid enough to try that trick again? There’ve gotta be better ways to kill us than a cursed broom.”

“Well… but…”

“Yeah, Hermione, lighten up!” Ron joins in, and Hermione scowls.

Potter quickly slips out to try to settle the growing tension.

“We’ll be careful, Hermione. We’re not trying to take unnecessary risks, really. But checking this for curses would require checking it over pretty thoroughly, which would mean stripping it down. This is a _really_ expensive broom for that. Besides, like James said, we do kind of have experience with brooms not working like they should. At this point, I don’t think that there’s much of anything they could throw at us that would hurt us.”

“It might just be cursed,” Hermione tries. Potter shrugs.

“Any object we find could be cursed. I’d rather not live our life worrying about that. Sure, this seems more suspicious than most items, but so did our invisibility cloak, and that turned out to be safe… and pretty important, and from Dumbledore.”

“Which isn’t likely to be the case for this!”

“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be an equally innocent gift from someone else who wants to keep their name hidden. Look, if it really worries you that much, I’ll have it looked over by someone that I know who’s really good with dark magic. I’m sure he’d know in a minute if there was something wrong with it.”

Ron pulls a face at that, but Hermione finally relents. Potter tries to hide his relief. He doesn’t know how he’d ever manage to get around explaining that the “someone” is a dark lord who happens to have access to their head and would never allow them to be killed by something so stupid.

XXXXX

The rest of the holiday passes uneventfully. Sure, there’s still some tension between Ron and Hermione – apparently Crookshanks is giving Scabbers problems – but that’s hardly anything to write home about. Sure, Harry doesn’t come back, but they didn’t really expect him to. Sure, there was a clash between James and Tom when Tom finally showed his face, James started yelling at him about this all being his fault, and Tom tersely replied that he had been the one to save Harry – James had gone silent at that, even Potter had been rendered speechless, and Tom had left and not returned since – but… but, well, that’s over now, isn’t it? No use dwelling on it. Ron and Hermione’s relationship will be fine. Harry will come back eventually. If Tom cares about Harry, he’ll return when Harry does. Everything will be fine.

And so school resumes in this fashion, and life resumes its familiar swing. Perhaps Ron and Hermione are watching them a little more closely than before. Perhaps Blaise never stopped watching them closely, particularly in the mornings when there’s always the chance that they’ll wake up confused and frightened and expecting to see metallic masks on every face – but that’s fine. They’ve almost gotten used to the dreams. They haven’t quite gotten used to being watched because people care – they’re still not quite used to people caring – but it’s not so bad. It’s almost nice to have people looking out for them, even though it does make them feel worse than ever for needing that support, for not being better yet.

As Hermione keeps reminding them, though, they’re upset because of learning that their parents were murdered by one of their parents’ closest friends. There’s nothing “dwelling” about that. Anyone would be furious. It’s not freakish to still be angry about that. It’s okay.

They’ve been saying that a lot lately, that things are okay. They’re still trying to believe it, but maybe _that’s_ okay. Hermione keeps insisting that it is, at least. She’s been insisting a lot of things lately. Maybe she’s a little more concerned than they give her credit for. At least she seems slightly mollified to know that they’re going to be taking lessons with Lupin.

Speaking of lessons with Lupin, they begin today, only the first Thursday of the semester, and the system isn’t sure that they’re ready. Actually, their nerves are rather shot. They’ve been standing outside of Lupin’s office for minutes, and Potter, Lily, and even James can’t quite bring themselves to go in.

Finally, James takes a deep breath and knocks before he can give himself any more opportunities to chicken out. After a moment, they hear Lupin calling out for them to enter, and they go to sit in front of the professor’s desk. There are a few minutes of light chat, and then Lupin gets down to business.

“I found another boggart for you to practice on,” Lupin informs them, “but I thought that perhaps we should begin with practicing the spell alone.”

James opens and then closes his mouth, unsure when or if he needs to tell the professor that he doubts that the boggart will take the right form. He’s sure that they can trick it into turning into a dementor when the time comes. Somehow. Maybe.

“So...” Professor Lupin takes out his own wand and indicates that they should do the same. “The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry – well beyond ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

“Okay,” Lily says, pushing past James. “What do I need to do?”

“Well, I’m going to teach you to conjure a Patronus, which is a kind of anti-dementor – a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor. The Patronus cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt it. It is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive – the incantation to cast it is Expecto patronum, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.”

Lupin looks at them expectantly, and Lily just stares back, stomach dropping. As the silence stretches, Lupin begins to look a bit worried.

“Many qualified wizards have difficulty with the charm, Harry. If it’s too difficult for you, I won’t think any less of you—“

“That... Professor, we're – I'm not worried about the skill required, but that… the projection of positive force, that might be a little too much for me…"

If Lupin concerned before, he looks positively alarmed now. For a minute, no one says a word, and Lily is trying to resign herself to their impending eviction from the room and subsequent shunning.

Then Lupin puts away his wand and says, “Harry, I can’t pretend to have any idea what it is that you’ve been through, but whatever burden it is that you’re carrying, it’s time that you share it. The lesson can wait.”

“Sir, I…” Lily’s voice fails her. She knows that Lupin is right, that they need to open up to _someone_ , but she doesn’t want to have this conversation with him. Lupin seems sincere, and she knows that James trusts him. She wants to trust him as well, but everything in her is screaming to stay silent, to deflect, to hide. Even if Lupin tries to help them, it can’t do them any good, can it? They’ll only bring trouble into his life. He’ll only end up getting hurt.

Lupin sighs and brings his hand to his face. He twitches slightly, closely his eyes, and then bluntly says: “Harry. My parents loved me. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to not have caring parents looking after you. But I do know what it’s like to be rejected because I was shunned by every community I’ve ever been in – not for any fault of my own but because of a condition that I was infected with as a child. I didn’t have a single friend until I went to Hogwarts, where I was able to befriend your father and two other young men. I’m still subject to people’s prejudice as an adult. I can’t hold any jobs because no one wants anything to do with me once they find out about my condition. Only my friends once stood by me, and they’re all dead or gone now…” Lupin’s voice chokes, but still he continues. “Harry, I have no idea what you’ve been through. I know that I could never understand how you must feel now, but I can understand the feeling that the whole world’s turned against you and that there’s no one on your side. Harry, _I will be on your side_ if only you’ll let me. So please… if there’s anything at all that you want to unburden yourself of…”

“Tell me about the death of my parents.”

Potter didn’t mean to sound that harsh. The words hang between them for a moment, and he’s afraid that he overstepped. Then Lupin nods, and they hear the story of their parents’ death again… but it’s different, this time. It’s so much rawer.

“—It was very hard for me, and it still is,” Lupin finishes. “The worst of it was knowing that because of my condition, I would never be allowed to look after Lily and James’s son. Now, though, Harry, I have that opportunity, and I swear to you that I’ll do all that I can…”

“What _is_ your condition?” Lily asks timidly. “I – _we_ have a condition that we’ve been judged for, too.”

Lupin must notice their use of “we,” they’ve been so careless, so open… but he doesn’t comment.

“I—I’m a werewolf. As I said, I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. Professor Snape has been making a potion for me every month to help, but it’s a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform… I'm able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again. Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. My transformations in those days were – were terrible…”

Lupin takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Lily interrupts, “You don’t have to tell us more if you don’t want to, Professor.” The relief on Lupin’s face lets her know that she’s made the right choice, but then the same vague confusion dawns on his expression. Lily takes a deep breath of her own.

“We’re… we have DID—uh, dissociative identity disorder… multiple personalities…”

“I… yes, I was told as part of my briefing, but to be quite honest, I still don’t quite understand what it means for you. I was told that you view yourself as different people? And that you can’t always remember what happens when you, ah, become a different person?”

“Sort of? It’s not… we don’t just view ourselves as different people, we— I — I mean, there are real differences between us, it’s not just… well, it is all in our head, but only in the same way that liver cancer is all in your liver, not that we’re a cancer… Oh dear.” Lily whispers the last part, wincing at how badly she’s bungling this explanation. Then she steps back and allows Potter a chance to try.

“You were told about our abuse, then…? Having multiple personalities was our brain’s way of allowing us to function despite that abuse. Some of us remember what happened, others don’t. Some of us handled more neutral interactions with our aunt and uncle and so had to be prepared to identify with their views without identifying with how they’d hurt us. Others of us handled school and had to have no idea about how our aunt and uncle treated us. Others of us had to know what they did to us in order to protect us from it but couldn’t identify with it too closely lest that interfere with their ability to function. Many of us had to become really well developed in order to do what we had to do. We all have different names, ages, skills, preferences… I guess in a sense, we’re not completely different people. We do have some overlap between us, and we’re all strongly motivated to work together. We feel very separate, though, and we’re far more separate than just moods, or ego states, or whatever else people like to compare us too.”

Professor Lupin is nodding, but he still looks a bit dazed. “I can’t say that I understand all of that, but I appreciate you trusting me enough to share it. I’ll try to find out more on my own, now that I have a better idea of what it entails. Headmaster Dumbledore did give us a parchment on it, but I must admit that the information contained within it was woefully inadequate.” He forces a laugh and then says, “You’d better go back to your dorm Ha—I think that we both have enough to think about for now, and it’s getting late. Same time next week?”

They nod and begin to leave before they hear Lupin calling after them.

“And, ah – may I ask which of you… are you Harry, or are you one of the… alters, was it?”

They turn back to face him, a bit hesitant. “There are several of us here, actually. We’ve been taking turns talking to you because we all wanted to… be here for this, I guess. Potter has been here, and…” They divert their eyes. “James talked to you last time, and Lily has been talking today because she’s the best at charms.”

They chance a glance back at Lupin’s face but can’t make sense of the mixture of expressions they find there. They’re not sure that even Lupin knows what he’s feeling until Lupin manages a small smile and wipes tears from his eyes.

“I don’t like to hear how badly you’ve been hurt, but… well, this isn’t about me at all, is it? I promise you – all of you – that I will do everything in my power to prevent you from being hurt again. You’re growing into a very strong and intelligent young ma—people.”

“Thank you sir,” they manage to whisper past the lump in their throat. Now they’re the one who doesn’t know how they’re feeling, but maybe that isn’t so bad. Maybe, just maybe, things really are going to turn out alright.


End file.
